The Lost Wing
by Kerwin
Summary: UPDATED AND REFORMATTED! Keori is a boy from Tokyo who is transported through his own will to Gaea, his mission, to find his father. However, he finds more than that, intrigue, murder plots, swords, and wings!
1. Chapter 1 to 23

Disclaimer: Escaflowne and all character names, and likenesses thereof are trademarks of and are property of the original author. Any other original character names, places, or overall storyline/plotlines are property of the author (meaning myself) Kerwin. Thanx for your support!

**Lost Wing  
**by Kerwin

**Prologue  
**

Keori walked down the glistening street as the stars shown above him and the full moon shed its light around him. He had only one destination in mind and that was his mother's old school track field. She had always told him that if he wished hard enough the stars would answer his wish. Keori had a wish tonight that he would not be denied.

He had just left one of the many homes he'd been placed in the past year after his mother died. Keori had no intention of returning either. Every time he was put in a foster home the people who ran it eventually became wary of him. He couldn't help if the people were nervous about his expert ability to wield a sword and throw knives. This ability had landed him out of numerous homes, but that could not even compare to the number one cause, his visions.

Among inheriting her green eyes and empathetic spirit, Keori had also inherited his mother's uncanny ability to see the past and predict the possible future. When he had a vision he would, fortunately, not feint as his mother did, but he would usually stare glassy-eyed as if in a trance until the vision was over. This blank-eyed look managed to get him many scheduled appointments with psychiatrists and doctors specializing in autism. Keori's last home was the worst, though, for the man who ran it was a certifiable alcoholic and Keori refused to put himself at risk of being abused by the angry drunkard.

Now, Keori was determined to find a way to Gaea, the place his mother always told him about. His father, King Van Fanel of Fanelia, lived there. Keori knew the tale was true ashe had inherited his father's black, messy, cropped hair, and the astounding trait of the Draconians, wings. He had grown up knowing that he was different, and his mother, Hitomi Kanzaki, had taught him to never show his wings from a very early age. Keori missed his mother greatly, three years ago she contracted a fatal cancer that killed her two years later. In fact, tonight was the anniversary of her death. Keori remembered the last time he spoke to her before she died.

* * *

Keori walked into his mother's room, it had changed a lot since she'd become ill. Where her large, four-posted bed once stood there now was a special hospital bed with rails on the sides and white sheets. The dresser was moved away from beside the bed to make room for the small table that held all his mother's medications. And, where once there was a beautiful, radiant woman, there now was a frail and sickly pale woman Keori barely recognized as his mother. He'd just arrived home from school, which his mother insisted he continue to attend instead of caring for her as he wished.

"How are you feeling, mother?" Keori stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

"Keori, you're home. Come, sit beside me and let me look at you." Keori did as he was told, unsurprised at his mother's order. Once, he'd asked her why she wanted to look at him and she'd answered so that she'd never forget his face while she waited for him in the afterlife. Keori knew there was no hope for his mother's recovery, so he tried to make her last days as painless and comfortable as possible.

"You remind me so much of your father. He was so compassionate and caring, always looking out for me even though he wouldn't say so. You've grown into a fine young man, Van would be proud. I only wish you had the chance to meet him, my son." Hitomi closed her eyes as the fatigue assaulted her. She could see the worry and stress in Keori's face though he said nothing, another similarity to that young king she once knew. "I wish he would hold me one more time, my angel..." Hitomi whispered wistfully as a tear rolled down her pale cheek.

Keori watched as his mother drifted off to sleep after her confession. He quietly moved to the door and locked it, and then Keori pulled the blinds closed. Carefully removing his shirt, without disturbing his slumbering mother, Keori allowed his wings to spread out behind him. Then, ever so gently, Keori picked his mother up and wrapped his arms and wings around her protectively. Hitomi sighed contentedly in her son's arms and sighed out the name of her beloved, Van. Keori felt his mother's last breath as it left her uttering his father's name.

* * *

Keori remembered that he'd been angry that his mother's last word was to a man who hadn't been a part of their lives for the last fourteen years. Only after the funeral did Keori realize the futility of his anger for his father. He knew that Van was never told he had a son, and if he'd known he would have been there for Keori and his mother. Truth be told, Hitomi had tried to make Van a part of their lives through her stories and memories.

Keori learned to fight with a sword in an effort to be more like his father; they found he had a natural inclination to the sword. By the age of twelve Keori had surpassed his sensei in swordsmanship. At thirteen he'd competed in a private competition, winning first prize after beating men thrice his age and with twice as much experience. The money he'd received went toward paying his mother's medical bills on Keori's insistence after she'd fallen ill. Much of the money was also spent on Keori's custom made sword. Hitomi surprised Keori with it as a gift for his birthday. The blade was made in an almost exact replica of Van's excepting where the crest of Fanelia sat on Van's sword; on Keori's sword there was a blue sapphire in the shape of the pendent his mother gave to Van. There were intricate designs on the blade like a chain leading to the pendant. On the very butt of the sword was a shallow etching of the Fanelia crest.

Keori had the sword in the blue duffle bag he carried with him. He also had two sets of Asturian uniforms with cloaks, one in the same color as Allen's and one in the colors of Fanelia with the high black boots. There were a few extra shirts and tan pants like the ones Van wore. Most of the garments were special-made using Hitomi's drawings as a guide; the accuracy and detail of her drawings made Keori often question her for not doing it as a profession. He also carried with him a feather from his father encased in glass, his mother's journal of her life in Gaea, two wrist guards with catches to release throwing daggers into his hands, and a few care essentials including a water repellant blanket.

Keori was startled from his thoughts when he reached his destination, his mother's old school track. Without a second thought he climbed the fence and made his way to the starting line. With his blue duffel bag over his shoulder he hunkered down into the starting position and then, holding all his mother's stories and his own visions of Gaea in mind, he took off wishing as hard as he could to be there. Time seemed to slow, then he was engulfed in blue light and lifted off his feet...

* * *

**Chapter 1: Arrival**

Keori woke in what he could only surmise as a forest by the huge trees surrounding him. He lay on fallen leaves and a few twigs which poked him mercilessly. Sighing in resignation he sat up and looked around for his bag. Catching sight of the brightly colored duffel, Keori shuffled forward and snatched the bag to himself. After rummaging through the contents Keori stole out a new outfit, a replica of Van's except the shirt was blue instead of red, and put it on. Next he slung the strap of the bag around his shoulder. '_Well, there's no time like the present to start looking_.' he thought as he started through the forest in a random direction hoping it would lead him to Fanelia.

As he lumbered through the underbrush Keori wondered what he would do when he did reach his destination. Should he tell his father who he is, or should he keep the information to himself? Keori's greatest fear was if he told Van right away who he is Van would treat him differently as any estranged father might. However, if he did not inform Van that he is indeed his son then Van could have reason to resent Keori for not telling him from the start. Keori's thoughts traveled in similar circles as he fought his way through the thick morass of trees.

~*~*~

Keori was startled awake by the sound of twigs snapping in the distance and birds taking flight with screeches of indignation. '_What was that?_' His heart fluttered uneasily in his chest and, in an unconscious search for security, his hand felt for the hilt of his sword. He'd tied a line between two trees and thrown his water proof blanket over the line to create a small tent. Keori crawled from his makeshift shelter and pulled his cloak tighter in defense of the cold wind. The noise woke him from sleep and Keori was shaken to think of what made the birds act in such a way.

Keori immediately noticed the fire long since fizzled down to glowing red embers. Silently berating him self for allowing the fire to die, he went about gathering wood in order to rebuild it. '_There's probably an animal out there not warned away by the flames or smoke_.' In answer to his unspoken thoughts, there were more crackling sounds closer then before. Keori felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. '_Calm down, Keori, it's probably nothing. It's just a wild deer or something._' Keori tried to get the fire roaring again when the crunching sound, amplified by a hundred, sliced through the sultry breeze. '_That wasn't a deer; no deer can topple a tree!_' Keori quickly stoked the fire. He'd just managed to get a decent fire going when a thought struck him like a physical force making him stumble upright. '_What if the damned thing is attracted to fire?_' In a flurry of activity, born of fear, Keori doused the flames and hurriedly began to dismantle his tent. Only one thought remained, '_flee_'. With everything shoved into his duffel, Keori looked into the foreboding blackness nervously. Suddenly, a vision superimposed itself on him.

* * *

The figure slinked through the trees in the shroud of black night. Horrid sounds came from the crushing of obstacles too close together to allow the passing of the creature. Keori caught glimpses of it as if watching with peripheral vision; an ugly, scaly patch of skin, or a swish of a sharply pointed tail. The thing was clearly five times the size of Keori.

A breeze picked up carrying with it a fetid stench he could not recognize. Seconds seemed like minutes as he strained, unsuccessfully, to see the creature once more. Then, he felt a heated wind at the back of his neck that caused sweat to bead and travel down his shirt to be cooled by the breeze. Goosebumps broke out along his arms and a tingling sensation traveled up his spine. He turned in slow motion and released a breath shakily only to forget how to inhale when he caught sight of the horrible beast of legend…a dragon.

Its body towered over him, its glowing eyes radiating an unmistakable hunger. Keori was face to face with a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. The bits of flesh and small bone imbedded in them could only be assumed as part of a rabbit or mouse for all the resemblance Keori could see to either as a whole. The dragon's breath could have been something akin to a desert wind for all the heat in it. The starring contest seemed to have come to an abrupt end as the dragon raised its head to strike. Keori reached for his sword, shocked out of his immobilized stupor by his impending death. Not finding his sword at his side, Keori watched in horrified disbelief as the dragon plunged.

* * *

Keori staggered back as the vision released him and he gasped. Frantically patting himself to assure his present status of living, Keori willed his heart to slow its rapid beating. '_That's the future!_' his mind screamed at him and he whirled around searching the impenetrable woods for the harbinger of his death. He quickly ascertained he had his sword, and his throwing daggers were locked into his wrist sheaths. Unsheathing the custom-made steel weapon, he gripped it expertly and readied himself for the coming battle.

He did not have long to wait; he first spotted the glowing yellow eyes before the monster bounded into the clearing, straight at him. It stopped only a few feet away; Keori forced himself to hold his position. The dragon reared and Keori felt a premonition accompanied by a vision of fire. He threw himself to the side just before a tunnel of flames blackened the spot he'd previously occupied. The plants crumbled to ash and the heat wave hit Keori making him feel like he stepped into a tropical green house. Gripping desperately at his sword with sweaty hands Keori deduced that not even it would be able to penetrate the tough scales.

Keori's first strike was with his throwing dagger. The dragon staggered around making a strange screeching noise. As its head whipped about, Keori could clearly see his dagger fully imbedded in the dragon's eye. Teal blood spurt from the wound as it thrashed around. Keori allowed the catch in his second wrist sheath to release the throwing dagger across his palm. Taking careful aim he threw the small knife with clean precision. The knife was buried to the hilt in the dragon's remaining eye.

The beast made its disapproval known as it began to randomly breathe fire into the woods. Keori moved quickly, but not fast enough, it seems, as he felt his arm burn with pain. Ignoring the pain as best he could, Keori raced forward with his sword brandished. He soon realized the brashness of his move when the pointed tail came into contact with his chest and propelled him into a tree. The sickening crunch that accompanied contact with the tree promised a couple of fractured ribs. Coughing up blood, Keori felt his vision waver and his knees tremble as if ready to buckle. '_Shit, at this rate I'll be dead before I lose consciousness._'

With as much focus and strength as he could muster, Keori gripped his sword and charged desperately at the monster a second time. As if in answer to his prayers, the dragon lifted its head, just as Keori came within striking distance, presenting the perfect target. Keori plunged his sword deep into the soft tissue of its neck and, levering himself on the sword, sliced down to the underbelly. Keori was drenched in the teal gore and the fetid stench he would forever be able to associate with dragons. Wearily Keori pulled his blade from the carcass only to slice through the chest cavity and remove the Drag Energist. As the dragon rapidly disintegrated, Keori could no longer maintain his footing and, falling to his knees, he slumped forward in a dead faint.

~*~*~

Keori tumbled to the forest floor gasping in pain. Clutching his burning lungs he felt the ever present ache in his chest area. His arm had long since been numb after he'd plunged it in a freezing river and tightly bound it with pieces of ripped shirt.

When he'd regained consciousness he'd found his arm swelled to twice its normal size and pain resembling hundreds of pointy knives stabbing into it. His whole chest was a garish black, blue, and purple bruise that ached incessantly with a nasty gash traveling across his midsection. Keori could not, for the life of him, understand how the dragon's tail end had only cut and not completely disemboweled him.

He ran out of shirt scraps to wrap around the cut on his chest (preferring not to ruin his other clothes) and the constant chaffing was causing him no small amount of pain or blood. He had to stop five times already, since morning. Keori knew with complete certainty that he needed to reach some form of civilization before he bled to death or his wound became infected. He had a niggling suspicion the cut might already be infected though there was no visible evidence. Taking in deep, slow breaths Keori squared his shoulders and tenaciously continued his journey.

The sun was just setting when Keori finally allowed himself to make camp and get some rest. He felt light headed and could no longer sustain the self-delusion that he was fine. His head burned as if in high fever and the cut on his chest pained him in time with his heartbeat. '_I'll just get some rest and be as good as new in the morning._' he thought then snorted derisively to himself. '_Yes, as fine as anyone with a charred arm, fractured ribs, and a gaping hole in their stomach could be._' A sound of rustling snapped Keori from his thoughts and his whole body began to tremble. He snatched his sword from the sheath at his side and winced as he forced his bad arm to cooperate. Sadly his daggers were a non-option as they resided within his bag.

The rustling sound approached and Keori, feverish and in great pain, caught sight of something yellow and charged blindly thinking it another dragon. As he brought the sharp blade down a ringing sound filled his aching head. His brain was too occupied to comprehend the sound as his blade striking another; and his mind distorted it to make him believe he struck a dragon's scales. Hacking away with his eyes tightly closed, Keori desperately wished he wouldn't die. Then, something hard rammed into Keori's stomach causing a small cry to escape his lips and his eyes to roll into the back of his head. The last thing he could remember thinking was, '_Damn, I don't think that was a dragon._'

* * *

**Chapter 2: Commander and Crew**

'_Soft, warm, mmm..._' Keori burrowed deeper into the comfortable blankets he was cocooned in. Sighing, he slowly opened his eyes to see a boarded ceiling above him. Turning over in preparation for returning to sleep Keori suddenly realized he did not know where he was. He jerked to a sitting position and felt both nausea and pain. Looking around hurriedly he spotted his bag, but not his sword. Keori stood, intent on getting his bag, and experiencing a few seconds of vertigo grasped the headboard of the bed. With a glance to his wounds, Keori saw that they were properly bandaged and clean. The searing pain that had plagued his arm dwindled to a slight twinge; and his chest was merely tender to touch. When his vision cleared Keori experienced only slight discomfort as he walked.

He retrieved his bag and slowly sat in a nearby chair to search through it. He felt a rush of relief when realized that it hadn't been tampered with; his throwing daggers lay on top of his clothes where he'd put them. With great care and slow precision Keori strapped his wrist sheaths on both arms and locked the daggers in place. Then, he donned a long sleeve, fine silk, white shirt with his blue Asturian style pants and knee-high black boots. After dressing Keori was slightly out of breath, but determined to speak to someone in charge. Holding his head high, Keori carried his bag over his good shoulder and exited the room.

As Keori walked down the hallway his eyes were drawn to a side window. Upon looking out the window, Keori came to the startling conclusion that he was in a levitation ship. The scenery flowed gently by in lush greens and warm browns. The ship was not high enough to slice through clouds but the blue sky was a beautiful backdrop to the hills and mountains. Keori tore his gaze away from the captivating view and walked on.

"So, this is a levi-ship? I thought it would vibrate and such; I can barely feel it moving at all! I guess flying in a war zone and during peace time are different experiences all together!" he mused to himself distractedly.

Keori reached a door; he could hear voices on the other side. Taking a deep breath he turned the knob and stepped inside. The moment he passed over the threshold he felt cold steel at his throat. Without thinking, on a purely instinctual level, Keori dropped his bag and had a dagger in hand, the point ready to drive into his captor's lungs.

"You'll remove that from my neck, now, or die painfully." Keori was profoundly thankful when his voice came out strong and unwavering.

"Ort, release him." a man's voice ordered. Keori allowed his eyes to travel over to the dark-haired man who spoke. Slowly he looked to the other men in the room; they looked like a bunch of outlaws. The last he saw was the man who'd held a knife to his throat. The one called Ort was bald with a large scar marring his head. Ort casually flipped the dagger he'd threatened Keori with in one hand.

"The Commander was injured by this punk, we don't know if he's an enemy or not, Serg." Ort called back idly to the man who stayed his hand. Several of the men glared at Keori after the mention of the commander being injured. Keori felt a wave of guilt upon realizing he hurt someone unintentionally.

"I would like to see your Commander, so that I can apologize for my misconduct. I am Keori Kan." Keori requested of the man Ort called Serg., knowing well he was Gaddes, the second in command of the Crusade.

Keori wasn't very surprised when he was told to wait for the Commander in the group room. After all, the first time Keori had been around the man, he attacked him without thought and injured him too. Gaddes returned following a tall man in full Asturian uniform. The Commander had long blond hair and blue eyes. Keori appraised the man silently.

"I am Allen Schezar, Asturian Knight of Caeli, and Commander of the Crusade." the man announced formally to Keori.

"Keori Kan, a traveler on my way to Asturia." Keori replied with a nod. "I'd like to make an apology for causing you harm, Allen Schezar of Asturia." Keori watched as Allen studied him without expression.

"It's an admirable thing for a man to apologize without making excuses for his actions; especially when I have it on indisputable authority that you were delusional with high fever at the time." Keori noticed many of the men giving him grudging looks of respect.

"I don't make it a habit of exploiting my weaknesses." Keori stated bluntly. Allen's lip twitched, though he did not allow himself to smile.

"I was meaning to ask you how you came to be in the state you were in when I found you; care to explain?" Allen asked politely though his eyes reflected suspicion and worry. Keori felt a flush of embarrassment grace his cheeks—a trait he most despised from his mother—and mumbled an answer too quiet for anyone but himself to make out.

"Pardon?" Allen looked slightly amused with Keori's embarrassment while several crew members grinned widely.

"I said I was attacked by a dragon." Keori ground out in resignation. This declaration was met by complete silence, even Allen looked quite grave. Then a man in a red cap with black hair spoke up.

"Yeah, dragons just crop up everywhere these days!" The men laughed appreciatively at this break in the silence.

"Just the other day the same thing happened to me." a man with a large red nose added. Keori felt anger rise in him, they clearly thought him a liar.

"If you don't believe me, that's fine, wallow in your ignorance." with that said he turned to leave, catching up the strap of his bag on the way.

"Reeden, Piru, that's enough. I'll reserve my opinion, Keori, but there is one more question I have," Keori stood waiting with his back to the group, "What business have you in Asturia?"

"I am in search of a job, perhaps in Palas or on a ship such as this." Keori explained simply without turning, and then walked out.

~*~*~

Keori walked through the ship with an abundance of curiosity. He had been thrown out of the control room by Kio after asking too many questions. Now, he was stuck wandering around trying to find something or somebody on which to exhaust his inquisitiveness. Keori heard some yelling and clanking sounds in a room ahead of him. Following the loud noises, Keori reached a cavernous room. Inside, several crew members including Reeden, Katz, and Teo were working on a large guymelef. Keori recognized the Scherazade from visions he'd had of the Zaibach war. Reeden was yelling at Katz for dropping a tool on his foot. Keori stood watching the camaraderie with a slight feeling of envy. This was why he came here, to belong.

"Hey, look, it's Dragon Boy!" Reeden called out, seeing Keori standing there. Keori rolled his eyes and shoulders in exasperation. They'd called him that ever since the morning he woke onboard.

"Did you want something, kid?" Teo, who was working in the control chamber, asked the question. Keori was relieved to see the tan man; Teo was one of the rare few who didn't call him by the soubriquet besides Allen.

"Actually, I'd like to see how a guymelef works. I'll help out in return; you'll have to tell me what to do though." Keori offered. Teo gave a kind smile and told Keori to climb up.

"We can always use an extra pair of hands."

~*~*~

Keori sat in companionable silence sharpening the large sword to Scherazade. Teo was working the nicks out of his own sword and occasionally broke the silence with a hum. Reeden and Katz left long before, after they'd finished the repairs on Scherazade.

"A good spar would be welcome after today's work." Teo mentioned casually.

"Hmm..." Keori hummed in agreement.

"What do you say, you up to one?" Keori looked up in surprise then, smiling, nodded.

"Just let me get my sword." Keori said and ran to retrieve it. He'd left the returned sword in his small room as a sign to the crew he meant no harm to them; some of them still held suspicion in their eyes.

~*~*~

Keori bounded into the cargo hanger with his sword sheathed and strapped to his side. He came up short for two reasons. One, he was painfully reminded he'd been tossed like a bag of potatoes into a tree by a dragon a mere three days ago. And, two, many crew members were recently convened in the hanger.

"Hey, Serg., Dragon Boy's gonna spar with Teo!" Reeden shouted eagerly toward the door where Keori stood. Glancing over his shoulder from under his bangs Keori saw Gaddes and Allen occupying the doorway.

"What're the odds?" Gaddes inquired nonchalantly. Allen merely stepped through the door and leaned against the wall where he would be afforded a clear view of the coming duel.

As the crew men shouted bets to each other, Keori and Teo unsheathed their swords and took positions across from one another. Keori could feel his blood hum in anticipation and had to still the urge to charge the man before him. Teo interpreted Keori's immobility as an invitation and charged aggressively. Keori deflected the blow expertly and parried the next. The voices of the men surrounding them receded to a dull roar. His focus turned to the one and only thing of importance at the moment, beating Teo.

As his mind focused, his concentration grew until he was neutralizing Teo's blows with minimal effort. After making his body's movements instinctive with practice he could discharge blows reflexively. Keori's mind was another matter; he'd found his body reacting to actions before they could be executed by his opponent and not only by using the subtle signs of body shifts and nuances. Keori was annulling his opponent's actions before even his opponent could conceive of them. Keori had a suspicion the ability was a result of his being able to see the future. Either way, he was able to see the fight as a whole and react to the preconceived actions.

The fight did not last long though Keori did try to prolong it to get a good workout. If he'd wanted, he could have disarmed Teo from the start, but his respect for the man prevented Keori from humiliating him. Little did Keori know that by his procrastination he was giving the men the full view of his swordsmanship and its superiority to theirs. Allen was among the men who could see the grace with which Keori moved and countered each attack. No energy was wasted and all his movements were gauged for effectiveness with minimal effort. Keori did not put stock in flashy moves that offered him no benefits but to make his opponent look bad.

By the time Keori believed it prudent to end the duel the two, he and Teo, were sweating profusely. Keori could see that Teo was winded and well on his way to crumpling in exhaustion. Teo's fighting style was more of the hack and basher than the intricate dance Keori himself used to distance himself from his enemy and then strike at the most opportune moment. Though his own style required more endurance Teo wore more armor and charged too often trying to use brute force. Keori wondered why he fought the way he did when Teo's slim build was more suited to his own style. Keori shrugged off his wandering thoughts; he'd lost the absolute focus from the beginning after it was apparent Teo couldn't win. Keori took pity on the fatigued man and disarmed him with the precision and ease bespeaking his talent and practice.

The men all shouted as Teo collapsed, breathing laboriously and begging release from his constricting armor. Money changed hands and several crew men helped Teo out of his armor. Keori's own breathing was elevated though not half as much as Teo. He returned his weapon to its sheath and walked toward Teo.

"Thank you for the spar, Teo. That was a good workout." Keori said sincerely and held out his hand to shake. Teo accepted Keori's proffered hand and snorted derisively.

"You gave me more of a workout than I gave you."

"Of course, I have to make sure you spavined old war horses keep on your toes!" Keori replied impishly. Teo looked affronted and the other men guffawed at his expression.

"You're all right, lad, you're all right." Kio said patting Keori on the back. Keori looked around and saw that the suspicion and weariness was absent or faded from most of the men's eyes; they were slowly learning to trust him. Allen cleared his throat and all attention turned to the Commander.

"Keori, how would you like to join the Crusade? You'd be a most welcome addition to Asturia's defense and to our crew." Keori saw the truth behind Allen's offer and bowed.

"I would be most grateful for the position, Commander."

* * *

**Chapter 3: Visions of Death**

Sweat trickled wetly down his lightly tanned skin. He had long since abandoned wearing a shirt; his narrow torso shined with his perspiration wherever bandages were absent. He longed to rid himself of the itchy bandages as well, but feared infection if they were removed. Grease traveled from his fingertips to his elbows and smears on his face attested to his inattentive efforts to clear musty sweat from his brow. The pants he wore were covered with grease as well, and had streaks along the sides that looked conspicuously like hands were wiped on them. He was a parody in appearance, a skilled swordsman resembling a common grease monkey. The acrid stench of grease and the musky scent of sweat permeated the air attesting to the morning's labor.

Keori sat back on his hunches to survey his handiwork. He darkened the streak along his forehead as he swiped his arm across it in one of many futile efforts to prevent the sweat from dripping in his eyes. '_Well, that should do it. It's like taking apart an engine, cleaning it, and then putting it back together_.' Keori let out a tired sigh and stretched the cramps out of his legs and back.

"You about finished with that?" Teo queried coming up from behind Keori to survey his progress while wiping his own hands on a cloth made for that purpose.

"Yeah, how does it look?" Keori studied Teo as the older man looked over the guymelef power block.

"Everything looks in order; you did well, Keori," Keori let out a relieved sigh, "In fact, that's one of the best damn jobs I've seen. I thought you said you'd never seen a power block before, let alone worked on one." Keori blushed with the compliment.

"I haven't, at least not before you showed me this morning." Keori admitted.

"And you did this one all by rote, from memory?" Teo had an expression of astonishment on his face while asking the question.

"Uh, yeah." Keori shrugged, head bowed with embarrassment. He remembered his mother's frequent comments about his knack for understanding complexities with ease. Teo laughed and scratched his head.

"You're something else, Keori." he said clapping a hand on Keori's shoulder. Just then, Ort raced into the room looking positively ecstatic.

"Look, Asturia, out the window! We'll be landing by sundown!" Ort exclaimed to the two mechanics then ran out again. Keori and Teo exchanged measuring looks and then laughed.

~*~*~

Keori stepped onto sun-warmed grass for the first time in a week. As the men stood smiling and joking with each other Keori took a deep breath of the sea air. He felt the last warm rays of the setting sun soak into his skin.

"Boy, it's good to be back home." Ort sighed, stretching in the fast cooling air. Ort's sentiments were reflected in the other members of the crew. Keori could see what there was to miss, the glistening ocean and the kingdom in the distance looked majestically at peace. '_Any damages incurred from the war have been long repaired; I wonder if the __**people**__ of Asturia have mended so well?_' Keori listened on the fringes of conversations, most involved plans to see family or to go celebrating. Allen was clearly anxious to see his sister who was staying with Queen Millerna and King Dryden. Keori stood apart as a spectator not included in the mirth as he knew no one would greet him or welcome him home here.

~*~*~

They reached the city at an hour that was positively unholy and Allen reckoned it would be rude to wake the palace. So, the men chose a tavern in which to sleep, and which provided beer in the meantime. Keori sat in a dark corner, hemmed in on both sides by the hulking forms of Rio and Piru, drinking only water. The men guzzled beer and laughed raucously. Allen stood brooding in his own corner while nursing his drink of mulled mead. '_Allen is taking this reunion with his sister far too seriously; I bet his sister will be glad he's back. Maybe something else is bothering him, perhaps one blond-haired queen?_' Keori shook his head at the ridiculous notion and frowned into his cup. Looking around, none of the men, so far, had noticed Keori's self-isolation. '_All for the better._' he thought. Keori stared at the table glumly thinking of how alone he felt and looked up only to be met with a new time and place before him.

* * *

The table he sat at only moments before expanded to accommodate an extra forty people. He was no longer surrounded by the soon to be or indisputable drunks in the tavern, but by men and women in decadent dresses and silken finery. They stood around talking in social circles with innuendos and undercurrents that only the rich and royal could navigate. What startled Keori more was that Allen was also present decked out, as he always was, in his resplendent Asturian uniform. Allen spoke with a man that wore a blue cloak pinned by the Asturian coat of arms. The man could only be King Dryden though Hitomi would've found herself hard pressed to recognize him. Keori noted that Dryden's kingship improved his manners and his appearance; he'd obviously learned to shave. Keori approached Allen and Dryden in hopes to hear what they spoke of, but in the next second everything around him seemed to fade out.

Blood splattered on the wall...People slumped over the table with arrows protruding from their backs leaving no doubt their inanimate state was permanent...Entrails of what could only be surmised as human organs made a gory mockery of the red carpets kings walked on...The table itself was strangely undisturbed excepting the splattered blood and three goblets spilling their contents across and below the table...As he stared at the congealing mess seeping into the wood he saw, in his mind's eye, Allen with his own sword in his chest...A dark-haired man whose face he couldn't see laid out on the floor covered in blood...Dryden's fancy glasses with one lens broken and the other cracked with blood creating a macabre spiders web in the crevices...Each scene flashed across Keori's face only allowing glimpses of the massacre. He could feel his jaw clench and his mouth become an emotionless grimace that had grown habit at such sights.

Keori's visions had plagued him his entire life; he could remember his mother telling him about the first time he'd seen Duke Freid's death. He'd been two years of age the first time he saw the Duke looking like a pin-cushion with arrows sticking out of him. His mother told him that he was at a daycare at the time. He'd been coloring in a book when the vision assaulted him. He saw Duke Freid fight in the battle and then surrender himself to become the archers' target practice. Hitomi said he started screaming when the vision ended and he wouldn't stop until she picked him up and took him home. He'd refused to sleep alone for many nights afterward. Keori began to grow use to the gory battle scenes and constant death in his visions and he learned to accept it as he grew older. Duke Freid's death was a constantly reoccurring vision through elementary school; Keori thought the traumatic experience as a toddler caused its continued manifestations. Now, despite having never fought in a real battle, Keori was hardened in the ways of death and pain brought on by war.

The flashing visions ebbed and slowly ended.

* * *

Keori could feel the ache in his jaw and someone gripping his shoulder painfully; he was back in the tavern. Keori glanced up, startled by the pain, to be met by Allen's intensive gaze. He must have winced or something because in the next moment Allen released his grip with a muttered apology. Keori felt bewildered as he looked around the conspicuously empty tavern; apparently everyone had found his way to bed. Annoyance quickly seeped into Keori; his visions could seem as short as minutes or as long as days but, when he came to, he'd find out that he'd been staring like a zombie for hours or minutes respectively.

"Are you feeling well?" Allen cut into his thoughts. Keori's attention was once again drawn to the fact that he wasn't alone and that he'd no doubt made a complete ass of himself. '_Damn, it always happens at the most inopportune times too_.'

"Yes, I think I was just spacing out there. It must be the wine." Keori replied. He stood and exaggerated a yawn while he stretched his limbs that had gone stiff from holding them in place for so long.

"You should get some sleep; tomorrow will be a busy day." Allen advised. Though, as Keori made his way to his room he couldn't help but think about the shrewd expression on Allen's face when the older man thought he wasn't looking.

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Duel**

It was almost morning by the time Keori managed to force himself to sleep. His mind refused to lose consciousness due to the recent vision. '_What was it warning about? Allen and Dryden being killed? Is this really the future? It can't be; I won't let it be_.' Keori suppressed the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. From a young age his mother taught him how to keep his feelings in check, she told Keori how his feelings could induce the visions to come true. Keori being half Draconian and half human seemed to make his visions even more accurate and possible, even on Earth. Keori could become as cold as ice if he had to. In fact, he pictured ice surrounding him in his mind whenever he thought about his visions least a wayward feeling of anxiousness cause the vision to become true. Despite his precautions, Keori's visions were more often genuine than not, hence his very tired facade after the bare two hours of sleep he'd had during the night.

~*~*~

Allen led his motley crew through the palace walls and to the inner sanctum of the court. There Allen bowed to King Dryden who'd been summoned at the sight of the approaching knights. As usual, his crew followed by example and Keori was pulled down by Teo into a kneeling position.

"Sire, I have come to give my report on the activities around the border. To the west there are bands of raiders attacking remote villages. I humbly suggest we increase our guard in that sector, Your Highness. Toward the North and East the borders are relatively calm; though to decrease the guard posted there might invite those of shady character to take advantage of the situation..." Allen trailed off to gauge the king's reaction to this news but, King Dryden's face remained an emotionless mask. '_Seems I'm not the only one who's mastered the art of concealing my emotions and thoughts_.' Keori thought giving the man more of his attention now that he proved a worthy enigma.

"And, in the South?" Dryden prompted Allen courteously.

"There's been rumor of dragons moving into the woods." Allen answered smoothly bringing his own poker face into play.

"I wish to discuss this news you bring more thoroughly, Allen. Please join me in my private chambers after you settle your men, before dinner." Dryden ordered and Allen, taking that parting command as a dismissal, led his crew to the barracks.

~*~*~

"I'm surprised the Commander hasn't run off to go visit his sister yet." Keori commented lightly as he stowed his stuff into a drawer under his designated bed.

"The Commander's not like that, he'll see Celena formally at dinner and meet up with her afterwards to catch up." Teo explained stowing his own things in the second drawer by Keori's.

"Yeah, the Commander always fulfills his duties before pleasure." Ort stated firmly though Keori couldn't help but hear the implied sarcasm.

"Hey, don't let the boss hear you or he'll make you the Commander's sparing partner the next time we practice in the guymelefs." Reeden warned with a cadaverous grin.

"Hey, Teo, do you think that you could teach me how to work a guymelef, I mean pilot one?" Keori looked to Teo hopefully.

"Of course I'll teach you, you'll have to learn some time if you plan on fighting with us." Teo remarked assuredly.

"Fight? When will he have to fight? We've had peace for fifteen years now; only bandits and raiders with knives and swords remain. We cut them down to size without the guymelefs, and the boy's skills aren't too shoddy!" Katz guffawed loudly.

"Peace isn't everlasting you know." Kio announced solemnly.

"Exactly, and that's why I'm teaching him, first thing tomorrow."

"You, Teo, ha, that'll be something to watch! Teo teaching someone else how to pilot a guymelef!" Reeden laughed until tears came out of his eyes.

"Just because I'm not as good piloting 'melefs as I am fixin' 'em doesn't mean I can't give the boy the fundamentals." Teo muttered darkly at the laughing lunatic.

~*~*~

Keori listened with rapt attention as Teo explained the inner workings of the guymelef piloting chamber. The sun shone brightly in the sky and dust kicked up from the other guardsmen with the same notion to hold guymelef practice. Keori wore a white long sleeved shirt and black pants that allowed complete freedom of movement.

"Alright, I think I understand it. The guymelef is just like an extension of myself, it doesn't seem too difficult." Keori commented offhandedly and turned to watch two other guymelefs battle it out in the cleared area. He noticed Teo eyeing him from the corner of his eye but ignored the curious gaze.

As he studied the fighters Keori saw what the difficulties lay in fighting with the guymelefs. For one thing, the reaction time was slower. With a sword, a man held a better chance of beating someone in a duel because his sword was as fast as the time it took for his brain to send the signal to his hand to block or swing. In a bulky guymelef a person's reaction time is slowed because there is a limit to how the machine itself can move. And it is harder to process the information, and then manipulate the machine to carry out your next move.

In a way one must be a step ahead at all times so that by the next move one is prepared with a counter move. Keori nodded to himself and deduced another fact. Usually guymelef battles were short and often started, as well as ended, with a single blow. A good rush or charge from the start could very well determine the outcome of a duel by guymelef. '_That could work both ways_,' Keori mused, '_if you anticipate the rush in the beginning you can take the necessary measures to get out of the way and then end the duel when the fool overbalances_.' Chuckling to himself, Keori headed into the piloting chamber.

"Tell them I fight the next challenger." Keori ordered Teo.

"You want to fight now, without even getting the feel of the guymelef yet?"

"Yes, I'm ready."

Keori stood snug in the guymelef with his sword in hand. The challenger was of middle age, a veteran come to teach the overconfident "child" how to duel in a guymelef. Keori had never witnessed this guy's fighting technique but, he was willing to bet he was a rusher. Most men of middle age who fought as young men in the Ziebach War were used to the quick thrust and plunge of the sword into enemies too numerous to spend quality time sparring with. Besides, his stamina was not what it used to be, what Keori's was now. Keori could make out the crowd of guardsmen on the side lines betting on the outcome of the match. He even heard the distinct voice of Reeden betting against him and giving his reason that it was Keori's first time in a guymelef, let alone in a fight against another guymelef. Keori was pretty sure takers for him thinned out considerably when they found out he was a mere boy in his first guymelef fight.

Keori allowed his mind to disregard the babble and let it become part of the ambiance. Then he focused on the challenger and prepared to evade the on coming guymelef. The loud cry of a guard on the sidelines signaled the beginning of the bout. Just as Keori predicted, his opponent rushed at him full tilt; and just before he could catch Keori with his sword, but not before he'd be given enough time to stop or correct himself, Keori eluded the blade and guymelef all together. The challenging guymelef toppled over in a heap and Keori had his sword trained on the piloting chamber within moments. A collective gasp insinuated itself into Keori's awareness as the courtyard went silent of the usual chatter.

"Do you concede?"

"I do." the challenger growled in what could not be mistaken as anything other than complete humiliation.

"Who's next?" Teo called out amused as he held a wad of cash in his hand. He knew full well if Keori said he could do something he damn well did it!

* * *

**Chapter 5: Allen vs. Keori**

The challengers were lining up in droves. The second and third duels were repetitions of the first one. Soon, fighters learned not to start a duel with a charge or lunge. '_Good, at least they've picked up on the whole rushing-at-the-start bit. They're a bit slow though; even if they don't start with the charge, they keep trying the straight forward technique later on. Don't they know the position of their swords and guymelef expose that attack right away? They've used it too often to see its weaknesses, and it's been too effective to prompt them to try and find those possible glitches. All anyone has to do is watch them fight in these mock battles, and realize they're all doing the same thing, making the same mistakes. An easy task for a spy; it's not like they try to hide the practices_.' Keori stood ensconced in the guymelef looking out at the gargantuan crowd. The people of Asturia treated the practices like a spectator sport, and no one was trying to dissuade this attitude. Snorting to himself in disgust, Keori turned to his next contender. '_These times of peace have obviously addled their brains_.' Keori decided as he quickly dispatched his new opponent.

~*~*~

"Look, there he is, it's that kid who beat almost all the guardsmen and even some knights!"

"He doesn't look so tough."

"They say he's open to anyone's challenge."

"I'll challenge him, when does he plan to fight again?"

"Before sundown, in an hour. He's just taking a break now."

The murmurs and excited gossip followed Keori all the way back to the barracks. Keori simply wanted a change of clothes and something to drink. He walked without expression, but inside he scowled. '_It's nothing but a game to them; they haven't learned anything! I'd hoped that by beating them they'd realize how easy it'd be for someone else who watched and analyzed to pick up the same things. Now, everyone thinks it's only natural for me to beat them and they laugh about it afterward; I've had no prior experience either!_' The voice in his mind snarled viciously. In truth, Keori was angry out of concern for Asturia. If his vision was any indication of the things to come then Asturia was woefully unprepared.

~*~*~

The sun was in that precarious position right before sunset when the clouds tinged pink, orange, and yellow just around it. Keori made his way toward the guymelef he'd been using all day which was kneeled in the center of the dueling arena like a prized colt at auction. Keori grimaced and shook his head in consternation, '_The_ _guymelef is one and the same with everyone else's. The only thing special about guymelefs, including Scherazade and Escaflowne, are the pilots inside them. Guymelefs are better off without names because in the end they're only weapons, tools, used by people to defend or hurt one another_.' Keori prepared to shimmy up and into the guymelef when he heard a commotion and rustling whispers carry through the crowd.

"Keori Kan!" a voice that he recognized called out. Keori turned to face Allen warily; '_Did I do something wrong?_'

"Your reputation precedes you. I've been hearing all through the kingdom that there is a boy master of the guymelef who's never even piloted a guymelef before today. I wonder if you'd agree to a spar with me." Allen stood tall and asked with the formality befitting his position.

"I accept all challenges, should even the king request one." Like a raging forest fire in dry season, the whispers carried through the crowd.

"He's gonna fight Allen Schezar?"

"Now we'll see."

"See what exactly? See this little upstart get his ass kicked? You bet!"

"Can he beat Allen?"

"What're you talking about; of course he can't beat Allen!" Both Allen and Keori could hear the deliberating people, but both ignored them.

"Let us duel then." Allen stated simply.

Keori entered the piloting chamber with a smidgen of hope. Truly Allen would be able to fight him without the mistakes of everyone else so far. After all, Allen was the reputed best swordsman of all of Gaea. '_Has he noticed the drastic fall in skill and intelligence among the fighters? If he has, why hasn't he done anything about it? Then again, I know nothing of what he speaks of when in the presence of the king_.' Keori rid his mind of the wayward thoughts. When the duel started, Allen didn't even bother to charge, or do anything at all for that matter. Keori was given the idea that Allen was told a lot more then he let on about his fighting. '_He's waiting for me to make the first move; he wants to see what I'll do._' Keori's lips twitched into a smile.

This wasn't the first time a competitor just stood there after the signal to start was given. Before, Keori had moved immediately, and effectively decommissioned his challenger. Sometimes he even charged his opponents just to demonstrate that he could. When he noticed that they stood still but lacked any plan of action, and hence were not ready to move at a moments notice, he would charge them. If they'd watched for the warning signs that signaled he was going to charge they should have been able to avoid it. They apparently lacked the ability to watch their opponent while keeping in mind that there was another thinking human being inside the other guymelef.

'_I guess I have to start this off!_' Keori's own thoughts sounded pleased with the prospect. Taking in the very nuances of Allen's guymelef, from the position of his hands on the sword to the very way the cape swept about him with each infinitesimal movement, he charged. Allen stood his ground which pleased Keori immensely. Just as Keori came within striking distance Allen moved his sword to block but in such a way that would leave him free to change the way of the swing at a moments notice. This hesitancy, or the more apt word of caution, on Allen's part, served him well as Keori pulled up short on the headlong rush. Allen was easily able to deflect the blow that was meant for his head. Keori just as easily parried Allen's attack with the precision that came with hours of fighting and a body's committing the movements of the guymelef to muscle memory. His body already had an advantage, because it was already conditioned to sword fighting due to his excessive study since he was young, it was easily adaptable and only the limitations of the guymelef needed to be understood.

Allen and Keori started trading blows in an intricate dance of death. Their moves were surprisingly graceful considering the very size and shape of the guymelefs. The sounds rang through the arena of sword on sword. Keori felt the fulfillment that only a well matched fight could make him feel. He avoided, dodged, rushed, lunged, retreated, advanced, and generally kept moving. Allen was like a patient cobra who bid his time until the instant presented itself for him to strike with fangs bared, or more pertinently with sword wielded. Keori felt the knock of the sword like a punch to the gut, it pushed him pack several feet. Keori swept his sword, forcing Allen to move back or lose a leg. Then, sensing Allen's next move, Keori prepared to end the duel.

As Allen brought his sword up, as if to cut off Keori's sword hand, Keori, instead of trying to block it completely, allowed Allen's sword to hit his suit's arm at an angle. Allen's suit was now at an angle to Keori's, Keori used his other hand to shove Allen's suit off balance and stepped away at the same time to dislodge the sword from his shoulder. Allen's suit fell, faced down with a resounding crash, and dust flew up in puffy clouds all around him. Keori did not take time to pat himself on the back for a plan well executed, but switched his sword from his damaged arm to the good one and trained it on Allen's piloting chamber. After the dust settled, the faces of the people could be seen clearly gaping in disbelief as silence descended like the blanket of dust moments before.

"Do you concede?"

"I do." Allen called out having wisely realized Keori's sword was positioned to strike him even though he could not see it. The crowd burst into frenzy, and just as soon quieted once again. Keori, who had exited his guymelef and gone to check the damage to Scherazade, turned to see what was going on now. Allen reached his side, and stepped forward to receive the new disturbance which was, in fact, King Dryden.

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Escort**

Everyone in the arena began to bow to the king; Allen approached, and kneeled at Dryden's feet. Dryden motioned for everyone to stand tall and took Allen aside to speak privately in his ear. Keori watched with worry clawing his insides. '_Did someone attack? Why are they looking over here?_' Keori felt himself go still when he noticed the pairs' eyes on him. Allen motioned with a gloved hand, and Keori could have sworn Allen pointed directly at him! Dryden's face seemed grave and he did not look happy with what Allen was telling him. Allen made an encompassing motion with his arm and King Dryden looked surprised. '_Oh, this can't be good!_' Keori thought as sweat tricked down his brow and neck. The clothes he now wore were sweat sodden and filthy. A film of dust sticking to his exposed skin turned his tan into a motley dark brown. Allen and the king separated and Dryden walked away from whence he came. Keori felt his stomach churn sickeningly as he surveyed Allen's countenance, unreadable, as Allen approached him.

~*~*~

"He wants me to what!" Keori asked incredulous as he continued swabbing the grime from his arms with a sopping towel. He wrung the cloth out into the metal basin that was full of muddied water. He dunked the towel in a clean bowl and moved on to his chest and back. Keori stood bare-chested in his filthy tanned pants; his belt sagged limply around his slender waist with the weight of his sword pulling it down. He was washing at the window of his empty barracks. Allen had suggested they talk here in efforts to gain privacy.

"King Dryden requested that I find a suitable escort for the princesses; I choose you." Allen repeated patiently.

"But, why me? I mean, why not someone more accustom to these parts, someone with more experience?"

"You mean, not an outsider." Allen made it a statement, not a question.

"Well...yes. How can the King trust me with the lives of his daughters; I could be a spy for all he knows!" Keori cried out exasperatedly. He swiped dirt from his face, and Allen had to wait a moment before replying to Keori's insinuations as Keori dunked his whole head in the clean water basin in an effort to clean his hair.

"Are you a spy?" Allen asked bluntly as Keori now dripped water all over himself and the floor. '_Such serious questions really shouldn't be asked while I'm looking so ridiculous, standing here half naked and soaking wet._.'

"Of course not, but...but..." Keori grappled for the right way to say what he needed to.

"But, he shouldn't have such blind faith in my judgment for I could be fooled by your friendliness." Allen supplied matter-of-factly.

"Well, yeah." Keori agreed, deflated by the candid way Allen put it.

"You beat me in the duel; the king needs a strong guard for his daughter. Plus, people will see you as a young boy, they'll underestimate you. Do you think I haven't noticed the way you look at the guardsmen, even me, with contempt?" Allen asked closing his eyes a moment and then giving Keori a fleeting look with his peripheral vision.

"Allen, I..." Keori began contritely only to be silenced as Allen waved a hand dismissively.

"You think I haven't taken notice of the failings in the guard. Or, you think I've noticed how they fight by rote and have done nothing about it." Allen accused unequivocally.

"Well, I haven't seen any improvements being implemented." Keori admitted dropping the towel into the murky water with a sloppy splash.

"I've told the king, he doesn't understand that peace doesn't last forever." Allen frowned and then pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning on with his arms crossed over his chest. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this, perhaps it's your ability to understand in seconds what others can't in years." Allen stared at his boots as if he was seeing them for the first time.

"Maybe it's because I'm an outsider; I don't know anyone to blab to that could be an enemy." Keori whispered quietly. The words hung between them in the still air before Allen broke the ambiance by sighing loudly and standing tall once again.

"Keori, I hereby order you to act as the escort of the princesses. If you do not believe yourself capable of such a duty you will tell me at once." Allen decreed with his voice of authority that brooked no arguments. Keori felt compelled to ask why Allen was so adamant that he watch over the girls, but refrained as it would be taken as insubordination.

"I have no contention with which to refuse your order, and I am hereby the royal escort." Keori avowed in all seriousness.

"Very well, you'll report to the castle as soon as you are presentable." Allen commanded tilting his head in an aristocratic nod of adieu. Allen headed toward the door, but before he stepped out he turned to Keori one last time. "I'll have your word as a gentleman and an honest man that you'll protect my sister with your life." Keori's eyes widened with surprise at the ominous threat. Then comprehension dawned and he clenched his jaw and nodded vehemently.

"I swear on the grave of my mother that I will do all in my power to defend your sister from all harm." And, with that parting oath, Allen left with a swirl of his blue coat.

~*~*~

Keori walked self-consciously along the hallway of the large castle. The vaulted ceilings gave the strong stone walls a looming quality that bespoke its age. The carpet he walked upon was a royal purple with old decorations in swirls of blue, gold, and green. As he walked, his muffled footsteps echoed loudly through the corridor. He felt quite lost, '_Where is this great chamber?_' he asked himself for what felt like the fifth time but was in fact only the second. Suddenly he heard voices coming from behind a door and turned in that direction with hopes of finding his destination.

When he reached the door, and after he briefly wondered how the voices could travel through such a solid intimidating structure, he pushed it open enough to slip in. Once he was in he turned to close the door and was stunned when the resounding thud reverberated through the air a whole minute afterward.

"So, there you are! We've been expecting you, Keori Kan." Keori turned at the voice to be met with King Dryden's piercing stare. Beside the king stood three girls...er...young women, who were no doubt the princesses, though they looked utterly unrelated. One was a black haired beauty with high cheek bones and pearly skin; she reminded Keori of a porcelain doll he once saw in a shop window. Another woman, the eldest, had silvery blond hair that reached her shoulders, and blue eyes that Keori knew instantly. She was Allen's sister Celena. The last young lady was a petite blond with cerulean eyes and a stern countenance.

"Keori, this is my daughter, Princess Marilyn; the daughter of King Van Fanel, Princess Naomi; and Allen's sister, Lady Celena." Dryden introduced the petite blond, the black haired beauty, and the silvery haired woman respectively. Keori bowed his head politely but did not bow at the waist, merely leaned forward a bit. The young women seemed to take insult at this because as one they turned to Dryden.

"Father, we hardly need an escort..." Marilyn began only to be cut off by Dryden.

"It is unseemly to be seen without an escort, what if you come into danger?"

"What danger!" Marilyn continued in protest. The rest was drowned out as Keori could focus on only one thing, the fact that he had a sister. Naomi stood silently by as Marilyn pouted to her father. Keori stared intently at her; she looked to be no younger than thirteen, a mere two years younger than him! How could she be his sister, it would go against everything he'd ever been told about his father, Van Fanel. If his father could simply forget about his mother, what did he have to hope for from him as a father?

* * *

**Chapter 7: Taking Charge**

'_Lord, they've turned me into their personal pack beast!_' Keori glared at the backs of the three women he was supposed to be guarding. He precariously balanced several parcels in his arms as they twittered together secretly. Suddenly, they turned into another clothing shop. '_Not another one! It's astounding that there's any gold at all in the king's coffers._' Keori thought as he rolled his eyes heavenward and followed them inside.

"Oh, this would look simply darling on you!" Marilyn pronounced holding a dress up to Naomi's form. The dress was the color of sparkling sapphire and was both intricately and delicately woven from fine, silk lace.

"Enormously impractical, if you ask me." Keori snorted loud enough for them to hear. '_They've already bought twenty new dresses each; they'll hardly wear any of them. This is ridiculous, I could be practicing my swordsmanship or with the guymelefs. Instead I'm wasting my time guarding princesses who are ungrateful, spoiled little ingrates!_'

"Well, who **is** asking you?" Marilyn sniffed offensively, and turned her nose up at him.

"Please, act in a way becoming of your position." Naomi admonished politely.

"He should do the same." Marilyn defended herself obstinately.

"Very well then, stop treating me like a damn page boy and more like your guard!" Keori snapped irritably.

"I'll ask that you curb your provocative tongue." Celena ordered, paling a little. Keori could do naught but snarl incomprehensibly and release the packages insensitively to the ground. Marilyn screeched angrily looking quite ludicrous as she stamped her foot immaturely like a toddler. Keori walked out of the shop and slammed the door behind him least he take it in mind to go back in and strangle the little impertinent twits.

Back inside the shop, the three stood where they were and watched Keori walk out.

"You know, he has a point." Celena started.

"Don't say a word." Marilyn rejoined flatly.

"If your father hears about how we've disregarded his position he may take extreme action." Celena continued anxiously.

"Like what, exactly?" Marilyn huffed and then pouted.

"Like send Allen personally?" Naomi offered.

"After all, he was my brother who chose Keori as our guard. He wouldn't have done so if Keori wasn't capable." Celena added worriedly. Marilyn winced at the image her mind conjured of Allen looking down on them in disappointment and lecturing her on the responsibilities that came with her rank.

"All right, I'll stop being rude."

"While you're at it, stop having him carry our packages; we can easily get them sent to the castle." Naomi asserted calmly. Marilyn agreed but only after a few minutes of joint coaxing from Celena and Naomi.

Outside, Keori was rethinking his new status and almost regretting accepting the position. '_I'm a complete fool! I let myself get walked all over. How would I have been able to protect any of them pretending to be a pack horse? How would I have been able to keep my promise to Allen?_' A shudder ran through Keori as he imagined Allen's reaction if he had to tell him that his sister was injured on account of his being unprepared. '_That would not be a pretty picture, or an experience I could live through_.' Keori knew as his mind fabricated realistic images of his mangled and bloody body.

Keori stalked back and forth in front of the store, his ground consuming strides quick and erratic. '_I know the king said to be polite and respectful. Hell, his exact words were, "Act like a gentleman!" But, enough is enough; he has to decide whether he wants a competent bodyguard or a delicate popinjay. There's no question about what I am. Consequences be damned!_' Keori contemplated fiercely. With his mind decided, Keori wrenched open the door and strode inside.

The princesses were right where he'd left them. They were conversing quietly amongst themselves and only broke off when they noticed him enter. He marched right up to them with his head held high and anger like a smoldering fire in his eyes. Marilyn opened her mouth to speak but Keori forbore anything she had to say by holding up a silencing hand.

"Now, listen up, Your Highnesses. I'm not a mule, a subservient subject, or even a friend. I am your escort, your bodyguard, and appointed by both the king and Allen to see to your safety. I will not carry your packages, and I will not tolerate your blatant contempt of my position and presence. From this moment on, you do as I say, or we return to the castle." Keori articulated clearly. His voice was that of a command and brooked no argument. The three young women seemed to be at a loss for words; Naomi was the first to recover. Marilyn seemed to gawk, and then she went stony-faced.

"Very well, I wish to go home at once." Marilyn said raising her chin imperially. Keori's eyes narrowed and he nodded with a tight-lipped smile.

~*~*~

The carriage ride was as silent as a hearse or a tomb. Keori sat across from Marilyn and Naomi, Celena sat beside him. The only sounds were those of the bumpy road and, occasionally, the whistling of the driver. Keori covertly studied Marilyn from under the fringe of his bangs. '_She's such a small and dainty looking girl; no one would ever guess she has the temper of a banshee and the stubbornness of a mule. Geez, she's looking at me. If looks could kill they'd be measuring me for my coffin, and I haven't even met my father yet! I can't believe she's so..._' Keori did not get to finish thinking exactly what Marilyn was, because at that moment the whistling of the driver was abruptly cut off and the carriage trembled violently before it was thrown up and onto its side.

Marilyn screamed and Celena let out a muffled cry of pain. The carriage tumbled a second time and they were thrown within like so many beads in a rattle. Keori was hit with a confusing sense of inertia before his mind kicked into battle mode. '_We're being pushed by something. That sound, a guymelef!_' Suddenly, the carriage lay still and Marilyn groaned loudly. Without sparing a thought to the current condition of the predominantly teenaged girls—they were alive, that's all that mattered—Keori kicked the door open and climbed out. '_Maybe, if I draw the guymelef away from the carriage help will get here_.' he thought hopefully.

Keori quickly jumped down from the carriage, sparing not a glance at his enemy, and began to run in purposeful directionless patterns away from the carriage. He could hear the machine follow him unerringly and it was clearly catching up. Keori felt his heart pumping rapidly and could hear the rush of his blood like the tempo of life. '_Keori, do something quick, or you're a dead man. How can someone on foot beat someone in a guymelef? Think, damn it!_' Keori felt the sweat prickle along his brow and tasted the tangy saltiness along his upper lip. Whirling around with his sword drawn, he got his first glimpse of his opponent.

The guymelef was every bit as huge and destructive as the one he'd piloted the previous day. The only difference was that this one did not have the imperial insignia of Asturia painted on the armor in any place. Rather, this one had a green dragon painted on the chest. Keori didn't recognize the symbol and frankly he was a little too preoccupied to allot much time in wracking his brain for it. The guymelef charged forward, intent on decapitating or splitting Keori down the middle, no doubt. '_What can you do? The only man you've ever heard of taking on a guymelef on foot was Balgus and he was one of the Three Swordsmen of Gaea!_' Keori felt the fear that any second now the blade would get within striking distance and it would fall, there was no doubt of that. Keori closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to come up with a plausible plan; he'd have to move soon.

Unexpectedly, the pendant appeared in his mind and pointed at his enemy. Keori's eyes snapped open and he smiled like a demon spawned from hell. The guymelef was within striking distance of Keori and the pilot swung his sword in a high arch. Keori chose that moment to make his own charge. He ran with the speed born of high endurance exercise and threw himself upon the bent leg of the machine, tossing his sword aside. The pilot was clearly confused, but not unduly concerned by the turn of events as proven when he continued through the motion of his swing. '_Assumptions are killers_.' Keori thought with relish as he finished shimmying up to the pilot's chamber. On a leap of faith, Keori pressed his hand against the energist pocket. With a hiss and clunk the piloting chamber opened to him. Keori grinned in triumph as he reached in and punched the pilot who wore a bizarre expression on his face. The man had obviously thought himself impenetrable in the guymelef; a notion that was many a man's downfall, Keori was sure.

Keori made quick work of pulling the unconscious man from the guymelef and then he secured him with his belt looped around his hands and ankles. The position was undoubtedly uncomfortable, '_but it's not my goal in life to make those who wish to kill me comfortable_,' Keori thought and shrugged. His eyes were inevitably drawn to the carriage next. Naomi and Marilyn had already managed to get Celena from the distorted coach. Keori felt a lump of panic grow in his throat and he raced over to the spot they occupied.

"Is everyone alright? What happened to Celena?" Keori asked quickly before he'd even reached their sides. He slid to a stop and dropped to his knees next to Celena's unconscious form. When he felt for a pulse, and found a strong one, he let out an audible sigh of relief.

"We think she either fainted or hit her head." Naomi explained with only a slight tremor in her voice.

"She won't wake up; is she going to be ok?" Marilyn asked as tears slid down her cheeks. Keori looked up at the other two younger women and noticed Marilyn trembling visibly. Naomi had a cut on her arm, and Keori could see a large splinter sticking out that caused him to wince in sympathetic pain. '_How can she be so calm? That has to hurt like hell_.' Keori thought as he studied his sister in admiration. Marilyn had a small trickle of blood running from above her left temple. Keori had to admit it; even Marilyn was taking things fairly well.

"Keori, I really do want to go home now, and I'm not trying to be rude this time." Marilyn warbled shakily. As if on cue, Keori heard the sound of carriages approaching.

"Your Highness, I do believe the cavalry has arrived." Keori said seriously and was taken by surprise when Marilyn collapsed in his arms sobbing uncontrollably.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Knight!**

Keori walked into the large, cavernous formal chamber of the king and his counsel. He spotted Allen standing near the king as well as the rest of the crew. People lined the walkway up to the royal throne, people of greater importance than himself.

"Keori Kan, approach his Highness the King and kneel." called out Allen formally. '_Oh God, they're going to sentence me to death for what happened_.' Keori thought panicked. '_I knew I should have ignored the summons to the royal chamber._' he berated himself as he slowly approached Dryden, delaying the inevitable.

* * *

When Allen and the crew, along with King Dryden himself, reached the scene they were far too late. All the damage had been done, and Keori was proud to think it was kept to a minimum, no little thanks to him. Allen instantly went to his sister to assure himself of her continued existence. Dryden rushed toward Keori, who still held Marilyn in his arms comfortingly, and tried to take her arms from around Keori's waist. Marilyn clung to Keori's embrace like a frighten child. It wasn't until Dryden spoke to her in a gentle voice, reassured her that her father was there, that she transferred her clutching to Dryden. Keori noticed that Naomi had been taken aside to have her arm fixed. No one paid any mind to Keori or to the prisoner of the captured guymelef. Keori, taking their inattentiveness as a result of relief, hauled the prisoner to a carriage and drove himself back to the castle.

* * *

'_I knew they'd eventually remember that it was I who was supposed to guard them, and they got hurt anyway. I failed; I should have heard the guymelef before..._' Keori noticed that he'd reached the king. He tried to swallow but found his mouth completely dry. '_What the hell are you afraid of? Stop acting like a coward, you know perfectly well you did the best you could, more than anyone else had_.' With this self-confident thought, Keori kneeled and raised his defiant green gaze to Dryden's. '_Do your worst._' he mentally dared the king.

"Keori Kan, you have shown valor and courage beyond many. You have shown perception beyond your years. You have risked your own life for that of duty to a king and country not of your own. I offer to you a chance to become a knight of the kingdom of Asturia. This is a high honor for one such as you." Dryden announced. Keori almost fell agape, but managed to hold his expression as blank as a mask. He heard many gasps and took note by his peripheral vision that several members of the council disliked the king's decision by the scowls they bore. Surprise was on the face of every member of Allen's crew, except Allen himself. '_This was not anything I expected either_.' Keori thought at them.

"Will you accept the duties of a knight? If so, swear your allegiance to Asturia and state the binding oath of Knighthood." Keori studied Dryden's confident expression. His mother had told him plenty about the self-assured merchant-king, and she'd been right. '_Dryden's so sure that I'll agree to be a knight of Asturia. He doesn't understand, my allegiance belongs to my father, and hence, to Fanelia_,' Keori sighed, '_Even if my father has betrayed my mother_...'

"Keori Kan." Dryden prompted regally.

"I am humbled by your superb offer, but sadly I must decline, Your Majesty." Keori replied in a neutral tone without expression. This answer seemed to prompt even more gasps and Allen too looked surprised now. "If I may venture a request, Your Highness?" Keori began and stopped to await Dryden's allowance or prohibition. Dryden gave a gesture for him to continue looking quite impatient with his impertinent self. "I would like to remain the bodyguard of the princesses. If I may have your leave to continue my service in your kingdom until I have found that which I seek." Keori solicited politely.

"And what is it that you seek?" Dryden's raised eyebrows expressed his own curiosity; after all, it was that which had Keori refusing to become a knight.

"Meaning no disrespect, Your Highness, but my business is my own." Keori answered without preamble. Allen's lip twitched at the impertinent words; council members spluttered at his cheeky reply. Dryden also seemed to find amusement in his words as he threw back his head and laughed.

"It's always the best and most loyal ones that can tell their king to piss off and so politely too! Of course I want you in my services, for as long as possible. Come with Allen to my chambers tonight, I have things which I have a need to discuss with you." With that, Dryden turned on his heels and walked out a side door. Council members broke into smaller groups to discuss the event that had just unfolded. Keori was dragged off by the crew who wanted to know every detail about his lone man fight with a guymelef.

~*~*~

Keori walked beside Allen in the castle; they were headed toward Dryden's personal chambers. When Allen met Keori outside of his room he'd been silent and brooding. Now, as they walked, Keori felt the tension coming off Allen in waves. '_Something is going to break eventually_,' Allen cleared his throat, '_Apparently that thing is the silence_.' Keori braced himself for whatever Allen had to say.

"I can not say that I am pleased that my sister was concussed yesterday." Allen stated gravely, his face stoic. Keori found his hand inching slowly toward his sword and his body shifting its balance onto the balls of his feet incase he had to move suddenly.

"I don't know what to say Allen." Keori said bluntly, his own expression unreadable. '_He trusted me to take care of Celena; now he's regretting appointing me as their guard. Probably thinks he should've left me to die back in the forest_.'

"However, I cannot be sure that I could have done any better than you had our positions been reversed." Allen admitted in a sigh. '_He blames himself_.' Keori realized as he studied Allen's eyes. '_He knows how to shutter his face, but his eyes give him away. He thinks he should have been there_.' Keori allowed himself to relax and withdrew his battle trained hand from his hilt.

"What, were you supposed to foretell what was going to happen? You can't save everyone on your own, sometimes you need help, Allen." '_Yeah, Keori, why don't you listen to your own advice?_' he scoffed mentally. '_Because, you _**can**_ see into the future, and that makes you responsible_.' a small voice whispered from within. Keori felt a brief moment of panic as flashes of his vision bombarded him.

"Come, Dryden expects us on time." Allen ordered breaking Keori from his mind consuming memories. Keori realized he'd stopped walking in that moment and hurried to reach Allen's side.

~*~*~

"Dryden, what is so important that you needed to see us now?" Allen asked the moment the doors were closed and it was confirmed that they were alone.

"I would like you two to help me figure out how to guard these borders without leaving Palas defenseless or significantly depleted." Dryden muttered from his hunched position over a table littered with maps.

"Why me?" Keori wondered with raised eyebrows. When Allen and Dryden both stared at him he blushed from the realization that he'd spoken the thought out loud.

"You because I don't know of anyone who could have thought of the maneuver you pulled off yesterday, let alone attempted it on a leap of faith. I'm hoping you can think up some good strategies to guard Asturia's borders while keeping the necessary force to a minimum." Dryden explained forthrightly. Keori nodded feeling quite satisfied with his answer.

"In that case, you need to sort through your men and pick out the most competent thinkers. Meaning no disrespect, but the men have gone soft and any small force of raiders who've studied their mock battles can outmaneuver them. They need to understand that battles aren't just reflex and brute strength, too often desperation, motive, and one smart leader can destroy an army." Keori observed.

"You see, Dryden, now there're two of us. How many more times and by how many more men must you be told this before you heed it?" Keori gave Allen a considering look. '_He's not as formal as mother always described. He can't stand to see his country in peril or the ones he loves threatened._'

"Have you questioned the prisoner?"

"No, he would not speak, and this morning his body was found in his cell." Dryden answered gloomily.

"Was there foul play?" Allen asked, apparently he hadn't known either. '_Doesn't Allen get it? That is why Dryden called us here; he believes that Asturia is in danger now_.'

"No, the prisoner strangled himself with his clothes." Dryden did not look up from his map, no doubt from fear that they would see the worry in his eyes.

"Perhaps it would be a good idea to take the royal family out of Asturia for a while?" Keori suggested thoughtfully. "That way, spies or those against Asturia have no way of finding out any plans you make. Someone has to have overheard that the Princesses would be going out. How else would they have known when, and how, to attack?"

"I know just the place, we'll go to Fanelia. Every year my family and I spend a week there; the girls trade off then." Dryden explicated.

"Trade off?" Keori asked confused and purposely ignoring the leap of his heart in his chest.

"Marilyn and Naomi, they both stay here for half the year, and then they spend the second half of the year in Fanelia." Allen supplied matter of fact.

"Very well, that takes care of that. We'll go to Fanelia, and no more talk of the guard or the borders until we leave. We do not need anyone eavesdropping on our private defense plans." Dryden announced assuredly. Keori knew a dismissal when he heard one, Allen and he bowed formally and left the room. Keori tried his best to ignore the foreboding feeling deep in his gut.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Fanelia**

Keori stood at the large windows in the helm of the Crusade with his hands clasped behind his back. Out below him stretched the Kingdom of Fanelia. The sun shone warmly on the brown, stone keep and the extending wooden homes. Fanelia, once a very quaint country, seemed to have prospered during the times of peace. Where Keori could recall Dilandau labeling Fanelia a backwards little country, in his visions, that title could no longer apply. Of course, Fanelia would never reach the size of Asturia, but it could give some of the outlaying provinces a run for their money.

Keori's eyes drunk in the sight greedily. The keep stood on an incline above the city like an over-protective father or an avenging sentinel. The city spread out with winding roads that interconnected or ended at an impasse. Keori noted the defensive advantage of having confusing roads; those unfamiliar to Fanelia would have a hard time getting in the keep or getting out. In between the charming homes were small patches of greenery in representation of herb and vegetable gardens. As the homes spiraled outward, and got father and fewer between, the land was taken up into cultivation. The farms, that probably supplied the main city, spread farther out until it reached a large wall. There were three walls, one around the keep, and another around the more wealthy homes, and a third around the outlaying farms. Beyond the walls, mountains, wild jungles and grassy plains took precedence. Keori could see tiny people scuttle about their daily lives.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The sighed question broke Keori from his admiration of the scenery. He glanced sideways at Naomi who looked upon Fanelia with a small smile curving her lips. '_It's everything mother said it was, and more_.' Keori thought as a feeling welled deep in his breast. This was the land he was born of, the land of his father and his father's father before him. He offered Naomi a small smile in return and only nodded. '_There are no words to express it_.'

~*~*~

The moment Keori stepped from the Crusade only one thought entered his mind, '_I'm home_.' Keori imagined himself flinging out his arms and twirling in place. The breeze would toss his ebony locks into his eyes and every which way. He'd be grinning and soaking up the rays of the sun as it poured smoothly over his skin.

"It's so wonderful to be home again." Naomi said breathing deeply the cool unsalted air. Keori smiled distantly at the wonderful vision before letting it flit out of his focus to be tucked into his heart.

"The king is expecting us; we should not keep his Highness waiting." Allen stated formally as ever.

"Yes, let us go to father at once!" Naomi agreed jocularly. Keori noticed the loss of Naomi's pristine mannerisms and collectedness. '_Obviously she feels no need to hide her emotions when she's home. Good to know that father doesn't always expect perfect etiquette_.' Keori observed thoughtfully.

"Alright, let's go see the young king." Dryden ordered in his usual imperturbable manner.

~*~*~

Keori found that the inside of the keep was much like that of Palas in Asturia. It had the same vaulted ceilings and the decor was just as exquisite except the color scheme ran more to the red and gold of Fanelia. The whole party was led by a well dressed man with dark hair cut in a military fashion. He'd introduced himself as Derek Orland, the military commander of Fanelia and right hand man to Lord Van. He stood at an even six foot and seemed to wear a permanent scowl on his stony facade. The really interesting feature was a scar running from his right temple to below his cheekbone. As Keori followed behind he caught sight of a large tattoo on the well toned muscle of the man's right arm. The hilt of a sword started at the shoulder and tapered off to the sword point right above the elbow. Wrapped around the silver blade there was a sea green snake with red eyes. Keori wondered how this man came to be in his father's service. As this thought occurred to him they reached two large doors that undoubtedly led to the king's council chamber. A soft murmur of voices penetrated the thick wood, but was neither distinct nor decipherable. Two guards who stood by the doors were given the signal to open them by Derek, and did so expeditiously. It was like opening the doors to a coliseum full of a jeering crowd; the noise level increased tenfold.

Keori got a glance of men rushing to and fro with missives, orders, and other important and not so important documents. Men with graying beards, and few without, stood around debating in small groups. '_Wow, government at work_.' Keori thought amused. There were many men in flamboyant robes and egos were quite apparently in need of deflation. They all competed for attention, often raising their voices to be heard over others. That went into a downward spiral until it was only a shouting match to see who could be the loudest. '_Geez, one would think with age comes wisdom. Haven't any of them been taught how to take turns?_' Keori did not know why these blustering old dodders engaged any of his thoughts when he was about to meet his father and had plenty enough to think about as it was. Perhaps anything to take his mind off the impending encounter was a welcome reprieve. Then Derek entered ahead of them and announced the arrival of King Dryden and his entourage.

All the men seemed to congregate to either side of the audience chamber at the announced arrival. A large isle was left open up to the throne for the assembled group. Keori's eyes traveled to the throne seat on the left and caught sight of a pallid woman. She wore a sleek, pastel blue dress that made her appear paler than she really was. She had deep blue-violet eyes that Keori found quite enticing and beautiful except for the decidedly cold stare. Her hair was as fair as her skin; wispy strands of spun gold framed her narrow face. This woman wore a finely crafted gold diadem; she could only be Naomi's mother.

Keori's gaze traveled to the right and he inhaled sharply at the first sight of his father, Lord Van Fanel. He sat on the throne, looking by no means diminutive, but rather regal and robust. Surprisingly, he wore no extravagant clothes but a relatively simple pair of well tanned leather breeches and a silk shirt. The only thing marking his rank was the sword slung on his belt that bore the Fanelian crest. His hair was the same velvety black as his children's without even a hint of gray. His eyes, a soft reddish-brown like good soil or mahogany wood, reflected his nurturing spirit and indomitable presence. His face was angular without being sharp, grown lean from the boyish curves he'd once owned. Catching sight of the group, Van bounded to his full six feet five inches. He would have seemed an imposing figure but for the wide grin on his face.

Keori watched as his father opened his arms in utter abandonment of formal protocol. And, he watched as Naomi ran and threw herself into the embrace with all the passion that a daughter who's missed her father can. Keori felt something squeeze his heart and refused to consider the lump in his throat as tears. '_It isn't your place_.' Keori squared his shoulders, stood erect, swallowed hard, and cleared his throat softly. He was the escort of the Princess and would show due decorum as such. '_Oh, father. I would it were that I could embrace you so!_' his mind cried out forlornly.

* * *

WARNING: This chapter is a rated R for an extremely descriptive, grotesque scene!

**Chapter 10: Visions of Decay**

Keori sat at the farthest end of the table hidden from sight by Kio's extra large frame. Van, his father, sat at the head of the table with Dryden on his right and Naomi on his left. Beside Dryden sat Allen and beside Naomi sat two identical boys of around six years old. Keori picked up from the conversation that they were Naomi's younger twin brothers, Benjiro and Jiro. They both had black hair, and tanned skin that indicated the time they spent outdoors. Like their mother, their eyes were the most dominate trait, only both boys had one red eye and one violet one. '_There's no doubting that they're Van's sons; they look just like him when he was a kid_.' he thought morbidly. Keori inhaled sharply when he realized he was sulking. '_I'm actually jealous of my half brothers and I'm pouting about it!_' Keori glowered in his seat and thanked any gods who might be listening that he wasn't in Allen's or his father's line of sight. '_As if they'd notice me. They're all too busy catching up. Everyone practically fought for places close to my father_.' Keori's mind nattered irritatingly. Keori felt appalled at his childish thoughts and brought a glass of wine to his lips in an effort to drown his thoughts.

* * *

People come bursting through the large doors with swords brandished. They are far too many and none of them have faces...Screaming...Naomi is laying spread eagle on the table, Keori doesn't even want to think of what they've done to her. Her eyes stare out vacantly holding no life in their dull brown depths. Blood, in little rivulets, stream across her bare breasts and down her cleft to pool in a congealing mess in her hollowed out stomach. They've cut out her womb and organs; Keori gets an intense urge to vomit and spends a few seconds dry heaving. Closing his eyes and wiping spittle from his lips he can picture her ravaged carcass in his mind quite vividly...two small bodies lay nearby in a dark corner partly covered by a cloak. Keori swallows the bile that rises to his throat and steels his nerves for what he is about to see...their little bodies have been castrated. Crude and vulgar pictograms are carved into their once soft skin that is now pasty with a rubbery texture. Their little faces have bloody streaks running down their cheeks from their eyes as if they cried tears of blood. Keori felt answering tears course down his own cheeks and a deep aching in his heart...There, the decapitated head of Van, his father...Sightless gaping holes with blood oozing forth from where once glinting eyes of intelligence looked out...his mouth full of his own bloody castrated organ...rage. Rage! Fury! Seething anger! Wrath! Keori throws back his head and gives a blood curdling scream that echoes off the walls of the corpse strewn keep. REVENGE!

* * *

Keori gasped and focused his wavering vision on the group of men surrounding him and booming with laughter. He realized in the same moment that what he'd just seen was not real but a vision and that he was hyperventilating. No one took notice as they were all too busy guffawing at some joke or other. With the long practice of someone who is used to waking from repugnant nightmares, Keori forced himself to breath correctly. '_Oh God!_' was his first coherent thought after he managed to calm his breathing. Keori squeezed his eyes tightly shut and strangled a cry in his throat when flashes of the vision passed before his mind's eye. '_Keori, get a hold on yourself! You can't allow your emotions to get involved. Do you want that to happen? Of course not! Then, withdraw your damn feelings from the matter!_' Keori gritted his teeth as his mind argued with it self. Pulling upon his last reserves he focused his mind and blocked himself from feeling anything. The lack of all feeling left a kind of hollowness in his heart that he'd had since his first precognition when Hitomi taught him about his abilities to influence the future. Keori sighed and watched the celebration blankly.

"Dryden, enough about me; what brings you all here a full week earlier than usual?" Van questioned seriously. The food was long finished and the men sat around the table drinking ale and wine in vast quantities. The crew was mostly pissed by now, as in falling down drunk, and laughing raucously. Keori perked up his ears as he caught the king's question over Kio's rumbling chuckles. He took note that Allen, too, paid rapt attention though he concealed it elegantly.

"Well," Dryden began and, looking around, decided it was safe to continue, "There's been some concern about rebel forces trying to spy on my plans for the border. Also, there's been rumors that the bands are getting bigger; they may try to stage a coup d'état."

"What proof is there of this so-called secretive rebel force? I know you, Dryden, you don't act without thought or weighing the consequences." Keori smirked at Van's inquiry as his mind supplied him with recollections of his suicidal fight with the strange guymelef.

Keori was listening keenly for Dryden's answer when he caught a noise with his peripheral hearing. In every situation he was in he tuned his hearing to absorb, differentiate, and then ignore natural background noise. He called this tuning part his peripheral hearing because he could basically disregard any annoying sounds commonly used until something stuck out as unnatural. After hearing this unfamiliar noise, Keori jumped to his feet with his sword drawn and his weight on the balls of his feet ready to move immediately. He watched the closed doors from where the sound originated.

"What is it Keori?" Allen was also on his feet with his sword drawn in reaction to Keori's hasty movements.

"Who is he?" Van asked as if only now taking notice of the teenaged boy. Keori made a gesture for them to stay back or be quiet; the meaning was unclear as he added no verbal command. The whole hall had fallen silent and the only sounds were the heavy breathing of the crew and the strangled cries of fright from the twin boys. Keori approached the door with the silence of a transparent spirit that any true hunter would envy. Keori was hunting something, all right. He turned the knob with an aching slowness that had his own mind screaming at him in frustrated impatience. Then, with all the force and speed of his being, Keori flung the right door open. He didn't stop there, but on sheer instinct grabbed the cowering figure from behind the left door and held his sword to its throat for all to see.

"Taji!" Benjiro and Jiro cried out from their seats at the table. "Father, he's Taji!" Keori looked from the two boys to the squirming boy in his grasp. Keori put more pressure on the boy's neck and he stopped wriggling for fear of slitting his own throat on Keori's sword. Keori noticed the boy wasn't really a boy, or not just that, he was also part cat. A peach head of hair reached to just above Keori's waist though he held the cat-boy off his feet against his own chest. A tail hung limply between the boy's legs; he wore blue britches and a white shirt.

"Do you know this child, your Highness?" Keori addressed the question to Van and could not prevent the sneering tone of his voice.

"Yes," Van seemed to be at a loss for what to do, "Please, unhand him at once." Keori did so and, when the boy whirled around to face him as he backed away, Keori saw Taji's large blue eyes and pointed kitten teeth. The fear was still in the boy's eyes, but there was also a trace of guilt. '_Geez, now I feel like a big bully_.' Keori thought, aching for the tiny boy. "Taji, what were you doing behind the door?" Van questioned absently as everyone settled back into their seats and Keori sheathed his sword.

"A million pardons, Lord Van. I...I just w-wanted," Taji swallowed audibly, "I just wanted to play with Ben and Jiro." The boy ducked his head quickly and Keori got the distinct impression he was lying or not telling the whole truth. Van seemed to think so as well from what he said next.

"Taji, I do not like lies or half-truths. You know this." Van replied sternly. Taji bit his bottom lip nervously and shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Well, I also wanted," his gaze traveled to where Keori now stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, "I wanted to meet the man who beat a guymelef single handedly with only his hands." Taji sniffed and turned his body sideways timidly.

"There's no such thing! That's preposterous; who told you such lies?" Van demanded incredulously. "When I find out who..." Van began but stopped when Dryden laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"Van, he tells the truth." Dryden murmured calmly. Van jerked to a stop and stared at Dryden disbelievingly.

"But, how? I mean, who? Allen?" Van's gaze traveled to the Knight Caeli. Allen slowly shook his head and Keori could feel the gazes of all the other crew members on him. Keori braced himself for when he would meet his father's eyes once someone told him the truth.

"The escort of the Princesses and Celena warded off an attack on the way home from the market. The escort had nothing but his sword and the attacker was in a strange guymelef; that is the evidence you asked of before, Van." Dryden informed calmly.

"He, he saved my daughter." Van whispered looking to Naomi emotionally. Keori could clearly see the realization in his father's eyes that Naomi could have been lost to him forever. Keori was revolted when he felt the familiar sensation of jealously. '_Naomi's death would cause our father immense heart-break and all I can think of is how I wish I meant that much to him_.' Keori thought in self-disgust. "Who saved her?" Van's query brought Keori's attention back to the matter at hand.

"Van, I'd like you to meet Keori Kan, Escort to the Princesses and faithful servant to Asturia." Allen introduced graciously having made his way over to where Keori stood braced at the wall. He placed a friendly hand on Keori's shoulder and Keori straightened under his ministration. Van and Keori's eyes met and Van's widened in surprise.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Jealousy**

"But, he's just a boy!" Keori could not prevent the sneer from twisting his lips and the retort that next escaped his lips.

"I apologize, Lord King. Next time I'll take my age into account when I'm attacked by a guymelef. I'll be sure to leave the really tough one to the older men should I deem myself too young to fight for my life." Keori's tone dripped with sarcasm. '_I can't believe it! He fought a war when he was my age and he says I'm too young?_' Keori glared daggers at the man he'd thought so highly of and now couldn't stand. Allen was giving Keori a warning look which Keori disregarded completely.

"You'll show me the deference of my position or pay the consequences." Van intoned harshly.

"Is this how you treat all those who save the life of your only daughter?" Keori asked sardonically. '_I can't believe mom bought into all his pompous gimmicks. She deserved better than this two timing, arrogant, idiot of a man. After so many years I wouldn't be surprised if all the things she told me about him were things she thought she remembered but really made up! He doesn't look the least bit sensitive or honorable_.' Keori thought adamantly.

"You little..." Van began and started forward but this time it was Naomi who held him back.

"Father, with all due respect, you did not show Keori any respect either. It is in my experience that Keori gives deference only to those who do likewise to him." Naomi articulated evenly. Naomi's interference only spurred Keori's temper from a few flickering flames into a blazing inferno. '_Who does she think she is? I'm talking with my father right now and I didn't ask for her help! She should just go stand in a corner and keep her big mouth shut!_'

"I'm not merely a boy. In all important respects I'm a man. I may be in the body of a child, but my intelligence far exceeds that of a normal man. Besides, I've been taking care of myself for quite a while now. Not even Allen can disagree with my ability to protect the girls; he chose me in fact!" Keori emphasized his words with the slight shaking of his fists and scowled at the man he knew as his father.

"Very well, learn to take criticism like a man." Van snarled angrily. Before Keori could retort Van cut him off. "I have no more to say to you, get out of my sight." Van ordered coldly. Keori knew his cheeks were aflame with his own fury and his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were blue and white. Spasms of pain came from the palm of his hand where he knew his nails must have broken the skin. He tasted coppery blood from a cut inside his mouth where he bit his lip. Pulling himself up stiffly he turned without bowing and walked from the room. He could feel all the eyes boring into his retreating back.

~*~*~

'_Why did that happen? Why was I so mad at him?_' Keori lay in his bunk in the room he shared with Teo. Teo snored softly in an alcohol induced slumber in the bed beneath his own. Wide awake, Keori held his hand up and frowned at the four scabbed crescent moons in his palm. Exhaling loudly he turned onto his side and curled up under the light covers. '_To be completely honest with myself, I'm mad at him for leaving my mother and marrying. But, that isn't even the main point_,' he sniffed derisively at his own selfishness, '_I'm more upset he didn't play into my thoughts of grandeur. I've thought so long and hard about when I'd meet him that I had preconceived ideas of what should happen. Yeah, Keori, like him seeing you and instantly recognizing you as his son. Did you really think he would love you and welcome you with open arms with one glimpse at your face?_' Keori groaned at his own disdainful thoughts. '_What kind of an idiot are you? You spiel about being a man, but you can't even get over your own jealousy of Van's other kids! If that isn't childish or immature then what is? You should go and apologize...like a man would_.' his mind suggested shrewdly. Keori tossed around in his bed attempting to get to sleep, but the thought incessantly nagged him until he gave up.

~*~*~

Keori snuck silently around the keep; the guards were truly horrible and extremely inattentive. Keori made a mental note to himself to talk to his father about them when they managed to get on speaking terms. '_Just be civil and don't start an argument_.' his mind supplied helpfully and Keori ground his teeth in annoyance. If there was anything he hated more than making a mistake it was the way his conscience reprimanded him afterward. Keori suppressed the urge to sigh, once again, as any sound would compromise his position.

Furtively, Keori slipped past the guards to the inner sanctum and made his way down the hall. He slunk along the hallway behind the hanging tapestries, hugging the wall in an effort to conceal himself more thoroughly. He trailed his fingers against the wall as guidance because he couldn't see beyond the end of his nose in the pitch darkness. Keori could feel the slight burning sensation in his calves after spending such a long time on the balls of his feet. '_Damn, I'm gonna have some serious cramps after this!_' Keori just hoped his legs wouldn't shake or give out before he accomplished his mission. Sweat trickled wetly down the sides of his face and back from the exertion he put forth. But, Keori was far from hot in the stifling narrow space, '_Thank_ _the gods I'm not claustrophobic!_' In fact, he was quite the opposite as the stones against his back were chilled and condensed; apparently the tapestries served a purpose. A great chill of foreboding crept up Keori's spine and his body shuddered unintentionally.

When Keori reached his destination he gave a mental sigh of relief for his traipsing behind the tapestries was over. Ever so quietly, Keori twisted the knob to his Highness' personal quarters and slipped within noiselessly. The room beyond was dark and full of shadows thrown by the moonlit windows. Keori crouched low to the floor and winced in pain as his too long stretched muscles compressed too quickly. '_Keori, you are so not in shape for this. Yeah, you have the endurance to keep up fast movements in a fight, but that doesn't excuse you from this. What if you have to go stealth or on reconnaissance? After tonight, you start training for this sort of thing, three hours a day_.' Keori's mind self-disciplined.

Meanwhile, Keori had come to within twenty feet of the large bed he estimated to be occupied. Unexpectedly, Keori was blinded by a flare of light that filled the room and banished the shadows completely. Reflexively, Keori threw an arm across his eyes and in a well executed tumble took shelter behind a piece of furniture. His sword was instinctively drawn and positioned toward the direction of the light even before his eyes adjusted to the brightness.

"I would unsheathe my sword and execute you on the spot except I know of your exploits in Asturia. It would be rather redundant to save the princess with the mind to kill the king, a waste of effort if you will. So, instead I will ask you, and only once, what were you doing here?" The voice was gravelly and once the after-images cleared from Keori's eyes he recognized the man.

Derek Orland, the military commander, stood with his arms crossed in an intimidating manner. Keori's mind would not pass this man off with the other inadequate guardsmen or knights; Orland had a presence that commanded everyone take notice. '_Somehow, I get the feeling this man would be a true adversary. He has the look of a seasoned warrior, not a long standing peacetime official_.'

"I'll not ask again." Orland rumbled dangerously. He uncrossed his large arms, but this did not detract from him in the least, but rather lent a more menacing quality to his appearance. Just the easy way with which the man held himself told Keori that Orland could do some serious damage and damn well knew it.

"I've come to speak with the king, in private." Keori replied deciding it not wise to skirt around the issue.

"What of, that couldn't wait 'til tomorrow?"

"An apology that my conscience will not acquire peace until conveyed." Keori rejoined in all seriousness. Keori watched for the man's reaction. Orland's right eyebrow rose slightly and his mouth quirked strangely. Keori could read nothing in the man's cobalt eyes and that was what worried him most. It wasn't exactly the reaction he was looking for or expected.

All in all, Keori didn't know what to anticipate and remained alert for anything this ominous man would do. His heart almost stopped when Orland threw back his head and laughed uproariously. It was like listening to a thunder storm, the barking sound rumbled throughout the chamber and echoed harshly off the ceiling. Keori started in surprise and regarded the man soberly as his heart seemed to compensate for before by beating twice as fast.

"A real warrior! Can't stand to make a mistake and has to go about the most uncommon way of fixing it! Hot damn! Here you manage to get past all the guards and put us all to shame. If I hadn't seen your shadow around the corner while headed to meet with Lord Van I'd a missed you myself!" Orland shook his head and chortled like a small earthquake.

"Am I not in trouble?" Keori posed the tentative question without expression.

"Oh, you're in trouble alright." Orland's eyes seemed to grow darker and his scowl came back in place instantaneously. Keori was left wondering vaguely if his mind was playing tricks with him and only imagined the hulking man in hilarious laughter only moments before. "After tonight's escapades you are going to pay dearly. You're going to give me a detailed summery of how you managed to slip by all the guards in place, and then we're going to work out a new schematic of the posts. I hope you like to sneak around because you are going to be the test of any weaknesses. Once we set up a new configuration you are going to find flaws and sneak in at random times without my knowledge. Every time you reach these quarters, or any others of importance we'll reevaluate the strategy. We'll go over the details later with Lord Van, for now, I'll take you to him to make your apology." Orland's eyes glinted maliciously and Keori realized he was trapped and by his own volition. '_Oh, my poor limbs! I don't think he'll be satisfied with my only practicing three hours a day_.' his mind cried out desolately.

* * *

DEDICATED to ANON and LITTLE-KITSUNE for their subtle but firm orders to get this chapter out!

**Chapter 12: Apologies and Accusations**

Keori was treading back and forth across the faded carpeting in front of Van's personal study. Should anyone have chosen that particular moment to walk the hall, a peculiar sight would've greeted them. Keori looked bound and determined to wear the carpet through to the stone floor beneath. His whole body was hunched and his steps were jerky. Besides his pacing, one would notice his right hand pulling roughly on his ear. Had anyone the courage, they might have asked Keori if his ear was bothering him and suggested he see a doctor. The word 'courage' is used in good reason because Keori's hard expression held the promise of irrevocable consequences should he be disturbed.

His eyes seemed shades darker and glinted dangerously in the torch lit corridor. The fringe of hair hanging into those sharply intelligent eyes only enhanced his malevolent appearance. The muscles in Keori's temple and jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth. A scowl graced his firmly sculpted mouth and created a downturn to his eyebrows over his slightly crooked nose. The flickering flames of the torches threw his shadow onto the wall like some sort of malicious spirit swooping to capture someone's soul. The sound of his sword clicking away at his side at every step lent a ghostly atmosphere to the already sinister picture. Keori looked nothing like a boy and everything like a trained combatant at that moment.

Had Keori known what sort of a figure he was cutting he probably would've blushed in embarrassment. Currently, he was too introverted to notice his demonic exterior. '_He's taking so long in there, probably refuses to see me. Geez, I'm such a moron!_' Keori let out a seething breath not unlike the hiss of a snake. Orland had gone inside Van's room an hour ago and still had yet to return. '_Can't really blame him; he's a king after all. I may see myself as his son and a bastard prince, but he sees me only as a talented fighter in the body of a petulant child_.' Keori scoffed at himself in annoyance. '_And, who gave him that impression in the first place? That's right__**, **_**you**_ did_.' Keori felt like rolling his eyes at the callous self-reprimand. '_In your own mind you were only disrespecting your father, but to Van, you were disrespecting a king. No wonder Allen was giving you a warning look! Shit, I bet he's pissed at me too_.' Keori cringed inwardly. At that moment the door opened, and Orland stepped out into the dimly lit hall.

Keori quickly blanked his expression and waited for Orland's report. Orland seemed to be debating with himself, wearing a curious facade, before he asked abruptly.

"Why are you pulling on your ear?" Keori felt the heat rise to his cheeks when he realized what he'd been doing without being consciously aware he was doing it.

"No reason." Keori muttered in answer to Orland's question, and ducked his head evadingly. '_I can't believe I did that! I haven't done that since I was six!_" Keori's thoughts sounded flabbergasted. By the sudden keen look on Orland's face, Keori deduced some of his astonishment was showing externally. He firmly took control of himself and wiped all emotion from his mind which brought about his impassive expression. '_It's no wonder I'm losing my cool. My friendship with my father hangs in the balance_.' Keori allowed tiredly. After all, pulling on his ears was the highest indication of distress Keori could demonstrate without becoming violent. Hitomi had a theory that, as a baby, Keori used to hear his visions before he actually saw them. Keori was inclined to agree with her as he'd seen his baby photos capturing that very action of distress. When Keori began learning the sword and how to control his emotions he'd also learned to stop such an outward sign of nerves. Control was second nature to Keori which only made the loss of it all the more embarrassing, not to mention disturbing.

"Uh-hum." Keori broke from his absent musings and decided on an expectant look. "Lord Van has agreed to see you." Orland announced.

Keori followed Orland into the study. The first and foremost thing he noticed was the aroma. Old, leather bound books kept in fine condition gave off a distinct, not unpleasant, fragrance. The musky tang of beeswax, polish, and ink lent a significant undercurrent that bespoke many hours slaving over ledgers and legislature. The next thing of great interest was that there were no walls, or if there were, the shelves of books were built right into them. Flowing scripts, engraved in silver and gold lettering on the spines, glinted in the flickering flames from the hearth. The only other source of light stemmed from a single wick on a desk littered with volumes and unbound pieces of paper. In the squirming shadows, Keori could just make out the figure of a man standing at the only window. The moons did not hang in the vicinity of the window and so the pitch darkness outside reflected that of the room save the two effervescent glows.

"You wanted to speak with me?" Van prompted with his back to Keori. The silence seemed to shatter with the words and Keori had to control his automatic reaction of being startled. Keori stepped forward and kneeled gracefully at Van's feet before speaking.

"Your Majesty, I would like to offer my deep felt apology for my behavior at your table. I have shone you disrespect that not only sheds myself in a most disagreeable light, but also tarnishes the reputation of both King Dryden and Sir Allen. I humbly beg your forgiveness and submit myself to your services as atonement." Keori stated formally. As he finished his proffering he held out his unsheathed sword to show the sincerity of his words. When Van turned around, he had a startled look on his face. Keori quickly averted his gaze in a courteous bow of his head.

"Derek tells me you broke into my private chambers to speak to me..." Van began.

"I swear I meant no harm. My conscience, if you will, spurred me to take action." Keori interrupted hesitantly.

"I see. You have a quick temper, but honor enough to admit when you're wrong. I will take you up on your offer. If you managed to get in my castle so easily it's apparent that I've become lax in my old age." Van mumbled the last bit almost to himself.

"Dare I ask if I am forgiven?" Keori kept his unsure gaze turned to the floor.

"I refrain from making any judgment at present. As of now, you are on trial to see whether you merit my trust or disdain." Van pronounced calmly. Keori felt his shoulders slump in disappointment, but resigned himself to his father's choice.

"I understand, your Highness." Keori replied giving no heartfelt promises of his good intentions. His actions would always speak louder than his words, as they always had. Bowing once again, Keori gained his feet and proceeded to the door. Before he walked out though, Van called out to him.

"Keori Kan, you are to report to Master Orland at dawn to begin your special project with him." Van intoned officially.

"Yes, M'Lord." Keori agreed demurely, and ducked out of the room.

~*~*~

"What the hell were you thinking?" Allen's harsh words greeted Keori as he stepped into his barracks. A side long glance past Allen proved Teo had been ordered from the room. For a moment, Keori wondered idly how they managed to wake the passed out, drunken man. Then all his attention was riveted on Allen who looked madder then Keori had ever seen him. Granted, Keori had seen Allen's combat face and even his expression of terrible grief, but never had he seen Allen truly angry, not even in a vision.

Hitomi once told him about Allen's anger when he found out why his father left his family. Keori could remember how his mother described Allen's anger as something not belonging in such an emotionally controlled person. Now, Keori could see what his mother meant. He and Allen had that selfsame control in common. So, Keori understood how, if he was pushed hard enough, his temper was volatile to the point of heartlessness; it seemed he and Allen had that same tendency in common as well. "Answer me." Allen growled dangerously.

"I apologize for making you look bad. And, before you start hollering, you may as well know that I've apologized to his Highness." Keori couldn't bring himself to refer to his father by name out loud thinking it might be an admission on his part that Van wasn't, in essence, his father. Allen's anger intensified briefly then became neutral at Keori's confession.

"You did? When?" Allen questioned looking confused.

"Just now." Keori answered and slumped onto a wooden stool to remove his boots. He dropped the first boot with a dull thunk and began tugging on the second ineffectually.

"But, the guards wouldn't have let you into the castle." Allen interjected disbelievingly.

"I never said I asked." Keori retorted sarcastically.

"Are you implying that you broke into the castle to apologize to Lord Van?" Allen demanded with narrowed eyes.

"I've never mastered the art of subtlety." Keori drawled laconically. Keori dropped his second boot to the floor and stretched while observing Allen's taken aback expression.

"You snuck into the castle and accosted the King in the middle of the night." Allen looked torn between amusement and fury.

"Too bad he wasn't in bed; Master Orland was rather impressed though, or at least I think so." Keori thought aloud while he thought of the intimidating man.

"So, you didn't see Lord Van." Allen assumed with satisfaction.

"Actually, Orland took me to see him. I apologized and offered my services as payment for the breech in etiquette. His Highness accepted the offer; I'll be meeting with Orland at dawn." Keori summarized genuinely.

"I suppose this means your service with Asturia has come to an end?" Allen observed acutely.

"If you would be so kind as to inform Lord Dryden I would be most appreciative."

"I shall, Keori. You best get some sleep now, dawn isn't far from the horizon." Allen nodded respectfully and excused himself from the room. Keori watched as Allen left and then tossed himself onto the lower bed. Letting out a sigh, Keori closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

* * *

**Chapter 13: Precarious Balance**

* * *

The night was dark, and thick grey clouds covered the moon, the Earth, and the stars. An ominous shadow seemed to be cast upon the small kingdom below. Whistling wind swirled among the homes and swept into every crevice. The streets were empty, devoid of all human life. The only sound that brooked the suppressing darkness was the dull barking of dogs and the shrill chirping of crickets. Then, all of a sudden, it was as if the whole of the sky broke open. Sheets of pelting rain fell to the land accompanied by roaring claps of thunder. As the mighty tempest reared her ugly head in a torrent of wind whipped rain a large explosion sounded. The castle and several surrounding outcroppings burst into a raging inferno. The flickering flames leapt up into the weeping sky in utter defiance. The crackle and pop of crippling lumber and the hiss of rising steam were drowned out by the heaven's onslaught. At his back he could feel the frigid flood of rain and, at his front, the pulsating heat that beat in time with the fury building inside him. All the world was burning in those twin jade eyes...

* * *

In one fluid, instinctual motion Keori was sitting up and holding a dagger to his assailant's throat. It took him a full ten seconds to completely divulge himself of his sleep fogged mind. For a moment, all he could see was the crimson conflagration and blue-grey hell storm of his dream. The second Keori threw off the morbid vision he realized he was holding one of his throwing knives to someone's throat.

"Who are you?" he demanded roughly. Keori knew the man would be unable to speak with the dagger pressed so hard against his jugular so Keori pulled it away slightly.

"Nice to know you ask a name before slitting someone's throat." a growling voice intoned sardonically. Keori recognized the harsh tone as that belonging to Master Orland. Sighing in relief, Keori released the man and placed the blade on the bedside table. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood languidly in the encompassing darkness of predawn. With a loud yawn he began to make his way by feel to the candle holder on the dresser. Before Keori reached his goal, though, he tripped several times which consequently resulted in many sworn oaths and snarls of pain.

"Damn Teo...fucking clean up...damn shit..." Keori griped before the sound of a match being struck rent the air. The acrid smell of match smoke quickly permeated the room. Soon the disheveled and unkempt face of Keori could be made out in the darkness by the light of the softly glowing candle.

"Is it time to go?" Keori asked as he removed his grungy outer garments from the day before. Deftly tossing the soiled clothing into a nearby hamper for that purpose Keori turned away from Orland to retrieve a fresh pair of leather breeches and a white cotton shirt from his dresser. He bent over and shoved his feet through the leggings without even the slightest unbalance and yanked them up methodically.

"I'm glad to see that the indestructible warrior of Asturia who can beat Allen and guymelefs single-handedly is human after all." Orland gruffly commented instead of answering Keori's question. For a moment Keori froze in the action of pulling his shirt over his head and looked confused. He met Orland's eyes and followed his gaze to where it rested on the pinkish scar running across his midsection. No doubt the shrewd Master of Arms had also picked up on the other, less noticeable, scars before Keori had donned his shirt. Sighing, and taking a fighters stance automatically, Keori looked to Orland with a guarded expression and hoped the bad lighting hid the strain that would surely show in his eyes though he tried to mask it.

"Look, I didn't tell anyone that I was better than Allen or above any other fighter here. I'm as mortal as the next person; the wounds I have I got through training, and combat situations. Please, don't make me into something I'm not." Keori started out frankly and ended firmly. Keori took note of the appraising look in Orland's eye from under his lashes as he strapped on his belt and sheath.

"I'm not positive they're completely wrong." Orland replied simply. Keori huffed under his breath and rolled his eyes furtively as he strapped on his throwing knives.

"I'm assuming you came here to get some work done; let's get to it." Keori prompted grumpily and walked decisively to the door. He received a shock when he suddenly heard a gravelly chuckle and felt a large, strong, calloused hand grip his shoulder. Keori had to stifle the immediate reaction to stiffen up and knock the hand off his shoulder. '_Geez, has it really been so long since you've had casual human touch?_' his mind asked. The answer came immediately to mind and made him wince internally, '_Mom was the last one to touch you kindly, and then came that bastard drunk_...'

"Alright, alright. I'll let it go...for now." Orland said with only a twitch to his lips. Keori was under the impression that if this man ever smiled fully he would most likely frighten small children. It was with this in mind that the two made their way to the training ground.

~*~*~

Keori studied the layout before him and shifted slightly with a grunt of effort. Salty sweat leaked down his brow and often dropped stingingly into his eyes. Small beads even dripped from his lax hair into his already thoroughly soaked shirt.

"The two points on the north side of the castle shouldn't be so close together. They need to be in sight of each other, but setting them too close only makes them easier to pick off or avoid." Keori nodded his head toward the map and huffed out his opinion. Orland studied the map and considered what Keori said.

"I've noticed that myself, but if I move them apart the castle wall gets in the way. If someone does get past a guard then the other wouldn't have time to block the intruder or assassin. Even with the new placement of the guard inside it wouldn't grantee prevention of entry." Orland countered logically.

"Hn...That does pose a problem." Keori grunted in a strained voice. He took a moment to study the diagram again and gnawed on his sweaty lip in concentration. "Well, suppose you...set a guard on the perimeter and work out a rotation where...the one on the inside is always in that station when...the one on the outside is at the next station. That way...there's always someone for back up; if an intruder gets past the guard on the perimeter...he's bound to get caught by those on the wall or the one inside and vice versa." Keori explained thoughtfully.

"That'll work for people outside of the compound trying to get in, but it still doesn't do much for those already in the castle walls." Orland insisted seriously. Keori had to catch a breath before he could formulate any sort of answer.

Keori stood beside Orland holding two heavy pieces of lumber above his head with his arms slightly bent. His legs were braced apart and he balanced on the balls of his feet. He'd been alternating between holding his load above his head and holding one piece in each hand with his arms straight out on each side without locking the joint. His arms were shaking slightly with the continued strain and his calves ached furiously after holding his weight so long. They'd been out for eight consecutive hours, two of which were spent in the glaring heat of the midday sun.

The time was spent with Keori training his muscles for his night excursions and helping Orland set up the new guard postings. As a gentle breeze swept by Keori closed his eyes appreciatively and reveled in the cool, wispy tendrils that caressed his over-heated face. It took all his self-control not to groan and grimace when the air became stagnate once more.

"That will always be a problem...For those spies who are already in the compound, you must realize that they'll probably know where all the guards are positioned before they attempt to enter...So, the problem in itself is redundant and an unnecessary consideration. The best preparation is to randomize the watch schedule...Try not to form any patterns, or at least not any that can be readily recognized after a few weeks' close scrutiny." Keori supplied bluntly. Orland grunted but nodded in acquiescence of Keori's judgment.

"That'll have to do. Now, the rest of the changes I'll do myself. No use letting you know everything when you're supposed to try and break in. I want you to try at random times to get passed our new system without telling me to see if it's working." Orland instructed as he rolled up the plans and notes.

"Do I have any sort of mission to carry out?" Orland looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded wisely.

"Yes, after all, most spies are after something or someone. When you break in, I want you to take something from whatever room you're in. Try to take something of importance if you can, like a precious valuable or an important document. I'll let Lord Van know that something might go missing during these escapades. If you successfully employ a steal, you'll meet me the following day and present the item. Then we'll go over the glitches in the layout. We'll know it's perfect, or as near as can be expected, when you get caught repeatedly." Orland expounded. Keori nodded shortly and, with a deep exhale of exertion, allowed his arms to put down the load and his feet to touch the ground completely. Orland took in Keori's dusty, sweaty, and awfully smelling appearance with an understanding gaze.

"You look hideous. Why don't you catch a bite to eat and clean up? You should get some rest too before dinner. You will be attending dinner at his Highness' table from now on." Orland did not make the last a suggestion, and Keori well knew he hadn't meant it as such.

"I promised Teo a swords duel and the guys at the hanger will be expecting me for guymelef repairs. I'll be sure to come properly attired and on time, though I do wonder at the necessity of my presence at the high table?" Keori questioned abstractedly.

"If you will be helping set up the defense of our castle it's necessary for the council to see you often in a position above that of a mere crewman. You have to be integrated into the daily lives of the upper class so they'll trust your judgment as more than an adolescent boy." At this explanation Keori could barely control the urge to curl his lip. He hid his dissatisfaction by stretching out his limbs meticulously to loosen the tight cramps. Orland bid him farewell and walked off to observe and speak with some of the guardsmen who were out training.

~*~*~

Two hours later Keori lounged gracefully on a roughly hewn wooden bench. He watched as the other guards bashed at each other with blunted practice swords and some with live steel. His jaws worked leisurely as he munched on a lump of bread and cheese that served as his lunch. He'd found out early on, in his training, that after strenuous exercise he was remiss to stuff himself with food. Keori could still remember the serious cramps and stomach pains that followed his first and last gorging session.

After Keori's mock battle with Teo he'd changed into something less grimy and dilapidated from the morning conditioning. Keori now wore black leather breeches and a black shirt of an abrasive material; both were more practical for his plans of working on the guymelefs because they wouldn't stain so easily. '_I only wish the damn sun would stop shining its insufferable rays on me_.' Keori thought darkly as he shifted uncomfortably in the suffocating heat. Looking to the limp, melting cheese in his hand, and the half eaten lump of sweat dampened bread, Keori suddenly lost his appetite and prepared to leave to the guymelef repair area.

He'd just stood when he caught sight of Benjiro and Jiro scuffing the dirt as they lunged at each other with reckless abandon. Jiro hacked viciously at his brother's sword and managed to knock it from the other's grip. The two boys both seemed to pause as the wooden weapon skidded across the ground sending up wisps of dust. Jiro broke out of his stupor first before the practice blade had come to a full stop. Turning to Benjiro, he raised his sword like a club, and brought it down swiftly, only to be thwarted by his brother rolling away from the blow. Keori studied the haphazard tussle that followed and winced as both boys resorted to their fists. '_I've waited long enough for their arms master_.' Keori decided and, tossing his unappetizing remains away, he made his way over to the brawling boys.

"Knock it off!" Keori ordered harshly and, gripping each boy by his collar, pulled them apart. He had to give each of them firm shakes for emphasis when they kept trying to kick at each other.

"Well, you two are a right mess." Keori commented blandly when they'd settled down. Keori felt a smile tug at his lips when he took in their bedraggled appearance, but did not allow the benign expression to flourish on his face. Benjiro was the worse for wear, his clothes a whole shade darker from rolling in the dirt. His hair even appeared brown rather then its regular black. Small, barely bleeding nicks and scrapes were present on his arms from being manhandled in the dirt, and his nose was leaking blood. Jiro was also wallowing in filth, his clothes a bit torn from his brother's pulling on them. He too had the small scratches where his skin had been chafed by the unforgiving earth but not as many. Jiro also sported what was fast becoming a black eye above his left cheek.

"It's his fault!" Benjiro shouted accusatorily, breaking Keori from his appraisal. Jiro wore a scowl and looked quite offended by his twin's allegation.

"It looked to me like you both had a hand in the matter." Keori observed reproachfully. Each boy bent his head shamefacedly before Jiro stubbornly raised his chin.

"Put me down! Just 'cause you're a good fighter don't mean you the boss of me!" Jiro's voice came out petulant and his lips turned into a pout.

"It does where fighting is concerned, and you ought to keep your own assertion in mind." Keori cautioned as he set both disheveled boys on their feet.

"What do you mean?" Jiro demanded with all the indignation a six year old could muster.

"Just because you're a Prince doesn't mean you are better that anyone else." Keori supplied critically.

"You said you're our boss in fighting. Does that mean you'll teach us?" Benjiro ventured timidly.

"Don't you have an arms master? Orland..." Keori began only to be cut off by Jiro's snort of derision.

"Master Orland has too much to do to teach a few scrawny toddlers, mother says. And, when we asked Davis, he's one of the guards, he just laughed." Jiro scoffed.

"Well, he did ask us what for." Benjiro mumbled embarrassedly. Keori almost gaped at them in astonishment but remembered himself in time. '_I can't believe father hasn't started their weapons education! They can't honestly be saying what I think they are!_'

"Are you telling me that you've had no formal training?" Keori was proud to note he didn't snarl the question.

"What's the point in peacetime?" Jiro inquired mockingly. Keori had the sneaking suspicion that the boy was mimicking the reason given to him.

"Well, we have been watching the others." Benjiro amended sheepishly. Keori cringed inwardly and groaned to himself, '_God, I hope not long enough to develop any bad habits!_'

"Forget I asked. Benjiro, go get your sword and you two line up here." Keori toed a line into the dirt. When Benjiro scuttled back with his wooden blade in hand Keori plucked the weapon from his hand and set it next to Jiro's on the ground. "Before you learn to attack you must be able to defend; and the first step in defense is balance. You two looked like a pair of landlubbers on the deck of a ship in a sea squall the way you were throwing your weight around." Keori appraised exasperatedly sinking into his combat position. Both boys looked nonplussed by his criticism but attempted to mimic Keori's own fighting stance. After a few disgruntled efforts Keori kneeled down and positioned their feet slightly apart with the left foot straight and a little forward of the turned right foot. "You feel that?" At twin gestures of denial and equally confused expressions Keori smiled understandingly. Then Keori stood and with a smirk pushed them both firmly.

"Hey!"

"What'd you do that for?" The two boys shouted simultaneously.

"Did you feel it that time?" Keori repeated ignoring their outrage. That's when Jiro and Benjiro realized that they were still standing.

"I get it!" Jiro exclaimed in comprehension and Benjiro nodded vigorously.

"You see; you've attained a balanced stance. Now, we see if you can keep it." Keori said ominously as he took up one of the practice blades.

~*~*~

Jiro swerved away from Keori's blade and pivoted excellently on the balls of his feet so that he could catch Keori's next attack. Keori lunged, being sure to give enough warning so Jiro could dodge, and then turned the thrust into a swipe. The hard wood caught Jiro in the leg as he tried to avoid the attack by sidestepping it. Jiro grunted as the blow connected, hard enough to bruise but not detrimental. Jiro did not complain as he'd been prone to at the beginning of the lesson.

Keori had swiped at the two boys who then dodged but lost their stance. Keori had pushed them after his attack and Jiro had shouted about the unfairness of it. After a scathing lecture about how dueling isn't a game, and not meant to be fair, any and all objections ceased. Keori then moved on to drill them in how to always stay on their toes and in their balanced battle stances. They learned quickly Keori observed in admiration, '_Comes with being young and flexible_.' Keori himself had been slightly younger then they when he'd started his lessons so he understood the ease with which young bones adapted to the strenuous art form. Their bodies were already storing the various intricate moves to muscle memory.

Keori snapped himself out of his wayward thoughts when Jiro made his own attack. Keori deflected the blow with ease. Jiro intelligently retreated back to his position, out of Keori's harmful reach. Keori noted the perspiration glistening on the small boy's forehead and the way he was panting with exertion. Glancing toward Benjiro who had suffered his own bout moments earlier, Keori could see the boy tendering his bruised arm. The sun was suspended in the dusky sky, not quite sunset but not far from it either. The land was covered by slanting shadows and many guardsmen were preparing for guard duty. Others were sharpening or polishing weapons before storing them for the evening. Keori wiped a hand across his own damp brow and sighed.

"That's all for today. You two did well for your first day. You're mistakes are minimal and you correct them efficiently when they're pointed out. I'm glad you've no bad habits from formal swordsmanship tutoring. I want you two to practice together at least once a day if I am unable to give you a lesson. Check down here at noon for your lessons, if I'm not here then you're to practice without me. Stretch out and put your weapons away then clean yourselves up." Keori ordered not unkindly. Keori handed Benjiro his practice blade and turned to go to the guymelef repair building. He was stopped by a hesitant hand on his arm; the hand belonged to Jiro.

"Master Kan, we thank you for the lesson." Jiro bowed courteously in the formal manner of the court. Keori allowed a benevolent smile to grace his lips and grasped each boy by the shoulder.

"No. Thank **you**, for your effort and determination, without those I could teach you nothing," '_my brothers_,' Keori finished mentally with an ache in his heart. The two boys looked respectfully at Keori one last time before dashing away to put up their weapons and stretch out their tight muscles. Keori watched them race to the weapons shed laughing in childish glee. '_Was I ever so carefree?_' Keori wondered somberly and shook his head to rid it of the depressing question. Despite that, a small voice echoed within that the answer was '_no_' because he was his mother's son. Shrugging indifferently he made his way to the cool haven of metal and acrid oil.

* * *

**Chapter 14: Fainting and Faking**

Keori stared blurrily at the bolt he was trying ineffectually to tighten. His palms were slick with sweat and, as he attempted to tighten the bolt a second time, the wrench slipped from his grasp. Keori wearily eyed the glinting implement as it clanked and clanged its way along the guymelef to the floor. Upon reaching its destination the wrench was carried into a spin by its momentum until friction brought it to a slow halt. Staring accusingly at the inanimate instrument as if it had consciously elected to jump out of his hands, Keori heaved a long suffering sigh. '_Damn, that's the third time now!_' Keori rolled his eyes and began to climb down from his perch on the shoulder of the guymelef to retrieve the rebellious wrench.

No sooner had he taken a step on the ladder then his greasy, sweat slicked hands lost their grip and almost sent him careening after the small metal object. Only an unobtrusive piece of protruding metal that firmly snagged his shirt saved him from what would have undoubtedly been a very painful, possibly fatal, fall. With his heart jamming intensely against his ribs and his hands trembling Keori carefully descended the rest of the way to the bottom. When Keori's feet touched solid ground he released his death grip on the ladder and could plainly see ten damp imprints on the sides where his fingers had clutched.

'_When you almost get yourself killed over a three-quarters wrench you know it's time to quit_.' Keori snatched a greasy rag from beside a bag of tools and proceeded to wipe his filthy hands with it. Keori soon came to the realization that he was efficiently spreading the grease more evenly over his hands rather than eliminating it as he'd intended. Growling in frustration he balled up the offending cloth scrap and, in a fit of adolescent immaturity, hurled it across the room. The rag landed without making a sound and gravity unfurled it from its spherical shape so that it appeared limp in the dim candlelight overhead. Turning his nose up at it as if to say '_so there_,' Keori stalked from the work house leaving both the wrench and the towel as they lay.

~*~*~

Keori's feet made soft shuffling noises as he dragged them toward his bunker. Every few seconds the rhythmic thump of his boots would be accompanied by the sound of a jaw breaking yawn. Keori rubbed both of his hands over his face in an effort to keep his eyes open. He was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that it took several moments for his sleep fogged mind to comprehend that he was being followed.

The sudden awareness was like a bucket of frigid ice-water. Instantly his body was processing in full alert and his muscles were steeled for the confrontation with his stalker. In a flash of steel and a flurry of rushed motion Keori stood facing his enemy in preparation for an attack. With his body acting on instinct and his mind numbed by sleep deprivation, Keori was left staring blankly at the dark, overbearing figure. Though his nerves jangled with the urge to run the man through, a murky thought in his muddled brain stayed his hand.

"I distinctly recall a promise to show at dinner. Care to explain yourself?" a deep voice articulated in an unforgiving monotone. Immediately Keori's mind drew a connection between the dim thought and the voice he now heard.

"Orland?" Keori wondered aloud.

"You're trying my patience Mr. Kan." Orland growled menacingly. With the reassurance that the man before him was indeed the weapons master Keori felt all the adrenaline that had coursed through him drain like a sieve. His exhausted fingers contracted spasmodically and the sword fell to the ground with a ringing echo. Keori swayed momentarily in place before bracing his trembling knees. '_What was it he said now? Oh, right, dinner. Dinner?_' Keori wondered speculatively with a vague expression on his face. He couldn't fathom what Orland was getting at until the memory of earlier that morning came to him. The recollection and, now, the broken promise hit him like a ton of guymelef scrap metal and almost sent him tumbling to the ground with shock. Keori blushed shamefacedly and averted his gaze from the floor to his rather intriguing custom-made boots.

"Sorry." Keori mumbled without any preamble and bent over to retrieve his wayward weapon. A bracing hand and quick reflexes was all that prevented Keori from kissing the stone floor when he became dizzy from the blood rushing to his head. Gingerly, he reclaimed his sword and pushed himself up with the supporting hand. This was clearly a critical miscalculation on his part as his momentum and wobbly legs slammed him backward, head first, against the wall. He could barely discern Orland's concerned inquisition through the drumming in his ears. Letting out a raunchy explicative and wincing from the pain, Keori sheathed his sword before he could seriously incapacitate himself. Keori shook his head in misery and allowed himself to slid down the wall until his knees were bent and each forearm rested across a thigh with his hands hanging limp at the wrist between them. In mere seconds he was dozing peaceably and was completely oblivious of Orland's presence. He didn't feel the two roughly calloused hands reach behind his knees and back to lift him into strong, muscular arms.

~*~*~

Keori sat ensconced in a shadowy corner balancing a whet stone and his sword expertly on his knees. Methodically, Keori was sharpening the blade and observing the goings on around him. He was seated quite discreetly in a relatively out of the way corner in Van's cavernous conference hall. Dignitaries, aristocrats, and politicians of the kingdom milled about talking of the various articles of government. Legislation was passed down from these well-to-do people onto the common people and peasants. Keori watched from his hidey-hole and listened with feigned disinterest. None of them paid him any attention excepting a few passing glances or glares. Keori kept his head bowed respectively and made himself look as unassuming and unimportant as he possibly could.

"...taxes need to be increased to augment the inflation or..." a pompous man of wide girth wearing an inordinately expensive plum suit was expostulating.

"Given the increase of the crops and marketable items it's fair to assume that we'll be in for a reduction in value for the aforementioned materials. Therefore we'd be remiss to elevate the taxes!" a thin man of waxy complexion, wearing an elegant, black ensemble that did nothing to enhance his sparse coloring interrupted conceitedly. The violet bedecked man spluttered and his face turned a blotchy purple color that strangely matched his clothing.

Keori tuned out the rest of the argument and turned his attention to the pointy-faced minister who was speaking softly with two cohorts. The men were attired in fine costumes of evening blue with matching cloaks. The minister wore a black robe that flowed over his immensely tall frame with a white priest's collar. Keori couldn't pick up what the three were saying to each other but felt an icy chill go up his spine when the priests' eyes passed through the room and met his own. Keori quickly averted his gaze as usual but kept watch of the minister through his fringe of hair. The minister sneered at him; when his companions noticed his preoccupation and commented on it the minister turned to them and Keori could practically read the snide remark in the very posture and tip of the head in Keori's direction. '_Note to self, don't ever do anything incriminating in __**that**__ man's presence_.' Keori had the feeling that the foreboding priest could convince Van that Keori really was unworthy of his trust, and quite effortlessly at that.

Before Keori could single out any further conversations his attention was piqued by the tail end of a loud comment.

"...mere boy! Do you honestly think this is necessary to protect the castle?" a rather good looking man of middling height and average weight demanded. In his hands was a sheaf of papers that Keori undoubtedly recognized as the new defense plans for the castle. Van sat on his throne looking as commanding as ever in his plain attire. The expression on his father's face told Keori just how much control the man had on his patience. The tensed muscle in his jaw showed that he was clenching his teeth and Keori could barely distinguish a slight twitch in the corner of Van's right eye. Keori felt a smile tug at his lips, but outwardly remained as somber as ever.

"Are you implying that I do not know what I am doing?" Orland's voice was low and held a hint of a threat to it.

"N-no, of c-course not. I-I just..." the refined man was reduced to stuttering in the face of Orland's apparent offense.

"Now, now, he didn't mean any disrespect Arms Master. He is only pointing out what we all know, that a foreign boy wrote out those plans. We are only concerned that at such a young age Mr. Kan is inexperienced and, because he is from a different region, prone to exaggerate our own need." the silky smooth voice of the minister carried easily throughout the room. Keori noticed how many of those in the room nodded to these assertions and how Van sat up straight in his chair with rapt attention. Seeing such a reaction made Keori even more wary of the imposing man. Making up his mind in a hurry, Keori sheathed his sword, slipped the whet stone into his pocket, and scrabbled in a most undignified manner to Orland's side.

"Master Orland? Master Orland, I was wondering about those plans we went over yesterday and how you fixed it so that enemies have two guards to go through before getting into the castle. Could you explain the rotation thing to me again, I'm still not grasping the whole point behind it." Keori asked with all the seriousness and childlike curiosity he could muster. Keori had the satisfaction of seeing Orland's eyes narrow only fractionally before he answered without hesitation.

"The rotation allows that there are always two guards on sight of each other. What this permits our men to do is not only communicate with one another should someone see an intruder, but it also gives us two opportunities to catch the trespasser before he gets into the castle. The system works like a backup incase our first guard is incapacitated or just bypassed." Orland explained in depth. Keori smiled brightly and thanked Orland profusely for taking the time to explain it once again to him.

"Are you telling us that Orland made most of the modifications?" the intellectual man of pale complexion posed the question to Keori. Keori rolled his eyes like any rude child would if they believed someone just asked the most dimwitted question.

"Whaddaya mean most? He made all the decisions and told me about 'em. Orland said I was like his assistant or something like that. I may be good at fighting and such but, frankly, I'm hopeless when it comes to strategy and politics." Keori admitted and, shrugging his shoulders, laughed at himself.

"Is this true, Master Orland? Did you take on a protégé?" Van asked giving Keori a highly speculative look. Keori caught Orland's sideways glance that spoke volumes for the weapons master's own confusion, but he gave a curt nod none the less.

"I think, with a little training his mind can be molded into one of a fair weapons master." Orland said by way of justifying his actions. Van nodded still looking a little miffed but succeeding in hiding it well.

"I see no reason why we shouldn't enact this new defense, anyone disagree?" Van asked brusquely. There were many shaking heads and remarks of denial; Keori caught sight of the minister's dour expression and smirked inwardly. "Very well, I charge you with seeing that my order it is carried out, Master Orland," the said man bowed to Van, "I believe this concludes our session for today." The throng of people quickly made their way to the doors and went to their respective suits and other obligations.

Keori hung back and waited for all the legislators to leave before approaching his father's throne.

"Your Highness, I would like to give my humble apology for my absence last even..."

"No need. Derek explained to me what happened; I can't say that I'm surprised." Van interrupted holding up a silencing hand. Keori blinked in confusion.

"Master Orland told you what happened?"

"Yes, he said you collapsed with exhaustion in the hallway. He had to carry you to your room." Van commented offhandedly. '_Ahh, so that's how I woke up in bed. I better remember to thank him_.' Keori nodded to show he'd heard the King and then bowed to Van with the intent of taking his leave.

"What I'd like to know is why you were pretending to be ignorant just now." Van observed astutely. Keori froze mid bow and sighed inwardly. How could he explain to his father that the minister unnerved him and that if the legislators knew his true intelligence they would be wary of him? Van trusted his men and would likely take offense if Keori didn't do the same. '_He doesn't see what I see, hear what I hear. If I seem invisible or inconsequential they'll likely forget themselves and say things around me that they really shouldn't. Then, maybe, I can find out why I'm seeing the destruction of Fanelia in my visions_...' Keori was snapped out of his musings by the familiar presence of Orland who also awaited his answer.

"I did it to protect myself. If an intruder does get passed the guards then my credibility is shot to hell. I'd lose any ground I'd had with the nobles if my plans backfired and they'd go back to regarding me as nothing but a child. This way, all my suggestions get through and no one is the wiser that it was me who was the mastermind." Keori lied expertly.

Orland's expression was unreadable, but Keori had the distinct impression that he didn't believe a word of that hogwash. Van was giving Keori a doubtful look and Keori wondered why until he realized that Van knew of his damnable conscience and brutal honesty.

"It was actually Orland's idea." Keori stipulated hoping internally that the arms master would take the initiative and affirm his accusation. Orland's expression didn't change one bit but he shifted his weight to the other foot in a decidedly guilty manner. To Keori's immense surprise, and not at all to Orland's, Van threw back his head and laughed. The rich sound of it flowed through the room and ricocheted of the walls in a pleasant echo of mirth. Keori closed his eyes briefly to revel in the comforting sound he'd never experienced second hand in visions of Van's youth. His father had been far too troubled during the war to laugh and so Keori had never known what his father's laugh sounded like until just now.

"That is so like you, Orland! Protecting the investment of the kid and taking all the credit in the process. The sad thing is that the boy actually doesn't want it!" Van was shaking his head and chuckling every now and again. Keori gave a mental sigh of relief that he judged Orland's character accurately and outwardly glared at Van for calling him kid and boy. "Don't look so murderous Kan; Orland may get the idea that you mean me true harm." Van joked smiling. Keori was taken aback at how relaxed his father was being in his presence compared with before.

"If you are done having your bout of hilarity at our expense I do believe it is time for you to meet with Princess Naomi for her violin recital." Orland muttered darkly though his lips twitched into that now familiar hint of a smile.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop. However, next time I really would appreciate a heads up from you Orland should you decide to play another stunt such as this." Van's voice turned serious and the smile vanished from his lips. Then Van stood, clapped Orland's shoulder in a friendly manner, and walked out of a side door.

"So would I." Orland replied intentionally belated and turned keen, demanding eyes onto Keori.

"I apologize for putting you into such a position, and thanks for going along with it." Keori professed holding his hands up peaceably.

"I don't want or need apologies from you Keori. I've been around you and have heard enough about you to know you have a good reason for deceiving Lord Van. I would, however, like to know that reasoning." Orland murmured calmly and waited expectantly. Keori heaved a sigh, '_Geez, I seem to be doing a lot of sighing lately!_', and opened his mouth to speak.

"To be honest, I was attacked while escorting the princesses to the castle in Asturia and it seemed strange to me that he'd had no qualms about killing the princess of Fanelia as well as the Asturian princess." Keori alluded quietly. Keori cringed inwardly at the half-truth he was giving to Orland.

"Do you think that Asturia's enemies may also have designs on Fanelia?" Keori nodded and shrugged without meeting Orland's eyes; the man's intuition was uncanny and Keori didn't want to risk the probability that he'd pick up on the fact that Keori was withholding information. "Is there a possibility that Lord Van can come to harm because he doesn't know about this?" Orland's expression said plainly that if that was the case then he would go immediately to interrupt Naomi's recital to inform his Highness of the impending danger.

"No! He can't be hurt because of ignorance on the matter, but he may be if he acts in any way as if he were aware of it." Keori rushed to say fearing that what he envisioned would only come to pass sooner if Van was given any suspicions on the matter. Orland must have picked up on this underlying fear because he dropped the conversation with an abrupt nod.

"I hear you have an appointment with the dastardly duo." Orland commented lightly as they walked from the huge chamber. Keori tensed slightly and warily glanced sideways at Orland. "You've no need to worry, I won't tell Lord Van. I confess it's one of the things we do not see eye to eye on."

"His Highness doesn't want his sons trained?" Keori asked incredulously. Orland's jaw clenched and he seemed to consider his words carefully.

"Queen Isadora wishes her sons to take lessons when they are of an age to truly appreciate and understand the necessity of learning." Orland stated emotionlessly.

"But, it's best to train them when they're young or they won't be half as agile or flexible when they're older!" Keori sputtered knowledgeably.

"I know; I am the weapons master after all. However, who am I to argue with my King? Lord Van and I have had a parting of ways on this subject and therefore I will not mention your private tutoring to him. But, I will warn you to be discreet so that they may flourish under your guidance." Orland warned and clamped a hand on Keori's shoulder. With a brief squeeze and one of his infinitesimal smiles Orland turned down a different corridor and Keori was left to find his own way to the outer court.

* * *

**Chapter 15: Harsh Reality**

Keori scowled furiously and grunted with effort as the zing of metal upon metal rent the air. His expression intensified when he felt his right foot slide infinitesimally backward and heard the arm of his guymelef buckle slightly under the pressure. Heavy breathing could be heard from the opposite guymelef but Keori was under no illusion that victory would be achieved easily. However, his confidence was equally certain he would be victorious; the question remained, when? Keori let out an unintelligible bellow and shoved his guymelef forward causing a screeching grind to emanate from the serrated metal. The competitor remained immovable but a low groaning noise attested to the limits of the machine; should the opponent hold his position at another drive he'd seriously damage the guymelef and lose.

"Is that all you got?" Orland's gnashing voice shouted breathlessly. Keori opted to conserve his energy for fighting rather than expend it by ineffectual ego bating. After a moment of silence Orland's menacing chuckle echoed through the dueling arena and Keori could clearly envision a smirk on the man's weathered face. "A true warrior then." Orland complemented eagerly.

Keori recognized a premature statement before an attack when he heard one and braced for impact. In their current position with both hands gripping their swords and feet spread slightly apart, a mirror image of each other, there were only two ways to end the stalemate. One of them could swing their blade downward and outward which would move his adversary's blade away; or one could pull their blade back, in hopes of unbalancing the other, and then ram into the enemy. However, in Keori's mind there was only one path for Orland to take because, like Orland, Keori knew that by parrying the swords Orland would be open for an attack once Keori recovered. So, Keori was unsurprised and alert when Orland stepped back and lunged immediately after.

The moment Keori noted the retreat he jerked his own blade away and executed a swift three-sixty spiral that took his guymelef out of stabbing range. The only problem was that Orland happened to be a highly resourceful man; he altered the lunge so that his guymelef's shoulder clipped the side of Keori's guymelef. Keori growled low as he stumbled backward and sparks erupted from the left midsection of his guymelef. The large crowed erupted into deafening cheers as they observed the spectacle of their compatriot damaging Keori's guymelef. Keori was backed against a wall and he could hear the intense cacophony of the multitudes. Once it had gotten out that Orland and the much gossiped about Keori Kan were going to have a guymelef duel the people had flocked to the arena.

The hot sun glistened off the scalding metal and Keori felt like a slowly baking potato. The young boy's breath issued forth into the enclosed space full of stagnate heat like a fume, making it more suffocating with every exhale. The small slits in the head, which were wonderfully apt to see by, did little to nothing by way of comfort. Sweat cropped up profusely from his skin until his clothing became like a second skin and stuck grossly to his seat; his hands slicked with perspiration slipped dangerously on the controls. The little air that flew in through the slits whenever he charged carried with its humid stench the dust and dirt of the pitch-ground. The sifted clay mixed abhorrently well with Keori's sweat to form a caked mess on his skin which consequently blocked any cool wind that should happen to filter through. Keori could taste the dry earth and feel the grit between his teeth in a mouth horribly sweltering and dreadfully parched.

Licking chapped lips covered with grimy sweat, and blinking against stinging perspiration combined with the glaring sun, Keori steadily faced Orland. The other guymelef was no where near mint condition due to a minor cut in the left shoulder from earlier in the match and a larger dent in the same shoulder from the more recent transaction. Keori raised his sword in the en guard position, a forty-five degree angle, and ignored the twitch of pain from his bruised side which resulted from when he'd been knocked into. Orland mirrored the action and hunched down in a manner that clearly delineated his next move. '_A lunge!_' Keori's mind supplied as his body unconsciously braced for the oncoming assault. It was obvious that Orland sought to end the duel with an all out attack, a risk. '_And it isn't a half bad idea seeing as how I can't avoid it because of the damage to this large tin bucket_.' Keori huffed sarcastically. The only option left to Keori was defense, but being backed into a wall was apparently counter productive. All Orland would have to do is hack away at Keori's defenses until they crumpled under the onslaught and then finish him. However, Keori was not the type of person who gave up just because a situation was damn near impossible.

Instead of inviting his defeat by taking up a useless position, Keori opted to make a stab at offense. Orland's guymelef thundered as it rushed Keori, its metal parts smacking against each other as each flat foot compacted the already stone hard earth. Suddenly Keori smirked, '_Let's see how you react to this._' he chuckled malevolently. When Orland reached within striking distance, prepared to clout Keori's weak and undefended left side, Keori, in a practiced move many times used to his advantage, lobbed his sword from his right hand to his left. As Orland's blade arced ever nearer Keori lashed out with his blade, colliding into Orland's powerfully enough to send the other's sideways. As the clashing steel rang throughout the stadium Keori gave no second thought to terminating the duel. He swiftly brought the sharpened edge to where the neck of his challenger lay ensconced in glinting alloy.

"And now it's over." Keori announced emotionlessly.

The crowd was deathly silent except for the shuffling and shifting inherently present whenever a large group of people were brought together. The only sound that disturbed the quietude was that of Keori and Orland's labored breathing. Tension held so thickly in the air that it was almost palpable. The burning rays of the sun sparkled off the razor sharp edge of Keori's blade to reflect into unsuspecting eyes and blind them. Thousands of eyes stared expectantly though not truly knowing what the outcome would be. Sweat trickled into Keori's already stinging eyes and blazed a trail of fire down the back of his neck. The musty scent of ashy dust and finely powdered dirt irritated Keori's nostrils giving him the barely restrained urge to sneeze.

"Do you yield?" Keori inquired calmly.

"Would you slit my throat if I refused...yes, yes I yield." Orland's gruffly humored voice carried clearly across the arena.

It was as if the dam broke; collective sighs rolled like waves through the crowd. Keori removed his deadly implement from Orland's neck and they each stood at attention before saluting to formally end the duel. Simultaneously the control chambers opened and the two combatants exited the hulking machinery. Keori walked wearily toward Orland, who was being questioned by two unruly munchkins. King Van and Naomi stood to the side observing the twin terrors. Keori's father was dressed in clothing more suitable for a stable boy with only his signet ring, sword, and modest cloak brooch, a gold circle with the crimson symbol of Fanelia engraved in it, to show his ranking. As usual though, Van possessed the ethereal aura that practically screamed royalty and power at any who even unintentionally glanced his way. Even so, if someone hadn't known Van was the King by his apparel, they would have deduced as much with Naomi standing beside him as the epitome of regal finery. Naomi wore a fashionable forest green riding habit that had somehow remained pristine in the dusty midday wind, and a simple gold tiara. She was glaring at her twin brothers who, wearing brown leather breeches and white cotton shirts that had accumulated plenty of grime, were busy rudely inquiring whether Orland threw the match or truly fought his best as Keori drew near.

"I wouldn't be Arms Master if I was so dishonorable; I did my best." Orland avowed seriously and quelled both boys' curiosity.

"Congratulations on your victory." Naomi offered noticing, and thus drawing attention to, Keori's presence.

"I humbly thank you Your Grace, but I do not view dueling as a game to be won or lost." Keori nodded solemnly. Lord Van regarded Keori for a moment and exchanged glances with Orland without comment.

"You fought valiantly Master Orland." Keori granted respectfully in turn. Orland's rough face was just as encrusted with sweat and dirt as Keori's, and his clothes were in much the same condition as Keori's, appallingly filthy.

"And you fought astutely." Master Orland countered, to which Keori blushed in embarrassment.

"I wasn't implying..." Keori began earnestly and quite tiredly but was cut off by Orland's raised hand.

"Yes, I'm fully aware. The fact remains that you are exceptionally talented. I hadn't known you were capable of sword-fighting with your left arm." Orland commented lightly.

"Yes, well...I practice in private so that I'll have an advantage..." Keori was explaining as he allowed his eyes to travel among the guards setting up for normal practice. Suddenly Keori caught sight of a man and trailed off. There was nothing remotely extraordinary about the man; on the contrary, he was very plain and rather unremarkable. However, the moment Keori caught sight of the mud-brown hair and the average build he was tossed into a vision.

* * *

The corridor was dark save for the two curiously glowing beacons at the far end. He thought 'curiously' because he'd come this way many times before on his way to the washroom and this was the first time he'd ever seen all the other lights snuffed out. The candle flames flickered at the far end like an illuminating dance of fire sprites throwing shadows into the recesses of hell's hallway. A sightless hand reached automatically to the side and felt for the course threading of the tapestry as he stepped forward with the intent of inspecting the strange origin of light.

Trailing the tips of his fingers along the wall, his anchor to the physical world being superstitious in such an evil atmosphere, he approached the caustic elements. Halfway to his aim the tapestry beneath his hand gave way to cool air and condensing stone before picking up at another wall-hanging. His footsteps echoed piercingly in his ears along the seemingly deserted corridor causing him to wince and walk a little softer. His eyes were riveted on the dimly lit alcove, and it was this concentration that alerted him to the shifting silhouettes beyond the fringe of candlelight. Instantaneously apprehensive he carefully slipped behind the next break in the draping and slunk ever cautiously forward. He couldn't have traveled more than a dozen or two feet before the sound of hushed voices reached his ears.

"...new plans...watch..." a common tenor voice was saying; he had the creepy feeling that he should recognize the voice but couldn't. He tiptoed a little ahead and waited with bated breath for the answer as the man was obviously talking to someone.

"There are no times." countered the other, devoid of emotion; he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck and was reminded of tales of demons without hearts.

"They're going to be altered...times at random...you a definite schedule." the first man replied distractedly. Spotting a break in the tapestry by the soft glow of luminous candlelight he shuffled hesitantly forward in order to hear better and perhaps catch a glimpse of the whispering pair. He'd no sooner stepped within seeing distance of the first man's contoured back when the demon-human hybrid uttered something that made him freeze in place.

"Never you mind; taking out the guards will be child's play no matter how many there are." The bizarrely mellifluous voice was accompanied by a negligent wave of the hand which was perceived by the fuzzy shadow cast on the wall by the shimmering candles. The common man chuckled sinisterly and turned so that the man in hiding caught sight of his profile and gasped. The man was of average height and build with mud-brown hair and sludge-brown eyes. His face was sculpted in a way that was so utterly un-unique that he was easily forgettable and would be completely lost in a crowd. The problem was that the man in shadows recognized the plain man and knew him immediately as the traitor he was.

"What was that?" the simplistic man asked, alarmed by the quick exhale the hidden man expelled. The man inhaled shallowly and reached soundlessly for his sword only to find his scabbard missing and to remember he'd left it in his room as his only intent had been to relieve a full bladder. There was only enough time to feel the first prickles of panic along his spine and to take a single tentative step in retreat before a ghostly hand whipped aside the cloth covering. The whites of the man's eyes glowed eerily in the now half dark corridor and a silver glint caught the spotted man's attention to the rapier the common man held. Desperately, he turned to run, but before he could take a solitary step he felt the jarring impact of cold steel through his back. Looking down uncomprehendingly, he was shocked to see the bloodied tip of the sword poking through his sternum with what looked suspiciously like part of an intestine skewered on the end. Pain was unrealized through complete astonishment and disbelief.

"It's not polite to eavesdrop on a conversation; now apologize." commanded the bare man with a sadistic snicker. The mortally wounded man merely stared stupidly at the man who'd just stuck him like a shish kabob and his body readily went into shock.

"Finish him." the unseen entity drawled with a bored tone. Keori looked up haltingly to see a tall, hooded figure in black standing before him, and then the world went black...

* * *

Keori wretched onto the dusty soil while bracing his hands on his knees. All at once the sun was too vividly brilliant and the air too blistering hot. His head was swimming and his vision blurred; all Keori could think was '_That wasn't me!_' The words repeated in his mind like a mantra as his sanity clawed its way out of the quagmire that was the domineering vision. A small stream of spittle coursed its way down his chin to the red clay earth before Keori brought the back of a hand up to wipe it away. Keori gave silent thanks to any god that was listening for having an empty stomach. There would have been a real mess under his nose, not to mention a very unappetizing taste in his mouth, not that dirt and grim were much better but naturally they were preferable to the alternative, should he have up-chucked at that moment.

"Keori, are you all right? What happened, you just doubled over all of a sudden." Orland demanded concernedly; at the same time Keori felt Orland's heavy hand land on his shoulder supportively. Keori drew in gulps of arid oxygen and forced himself to review the situation calmly. It wasn't often that he experienced a vision first hand, or actively participated as the main character, hence his momentary lapse in self-control. Once Keori had experienced Duke Fried's death at the tender age of six and even the death of one of the slayers under Dilandau when his father killed them at eight; each instance had left him seriously traumatized and unable to attend school for a week afterward.

Keori had essentially died in his vision and his mind was battling with the realization that he was, in fact, alive. Keori thought systematically over the course of his two weeks stay in Fanelia for a murder or missing person that would correlate with his vision. First hand death meant one thing for sure, the vision had already happened. Abruptly Keori recalled a morning three days ago and how Orland had been preoccupied over a missing guard who had never showed up to his post. The guard's things, including his sword, had been left in his clean room leading others to believe he'd deserted though a few who'd known him well had refuted all rumors to that effect. Keori knew that his vision had been the untimely death of the missing guard, and he also knew the culprit; the very man who had set off Keori's vision had been the plain man who had murdered the unfortunate guard.

Without thought, Keori knocked the burly appendage off his shoulder and leapt to his feet, firm in his new resolve. Before Orland could utter an exclamation, whether it would be of concern or offense, Keori was sprinting through the crowd in a most uncouth manner. He showed no deference to rank or age as he shoved several people from his path. Officious threats and yells of those offended followed Keori to the far side of the arena where he spotted the cruel murderer. The man had the same mud colored hair and contours as the one in the vision; he wore a guard uniform which explained how the man Keori was entrapped by in the vision recognized him. The man was setting out some towels, whet stones, and stools for those who wished to rest or sharpen their weapons during practice. With a throaty growl and a flash of lethal steel Keori charged the man.

"Lucius, look out!" The shouted warning was all that kept Keori from viciously hacking off the man's legs; after all, he'd need to keep the defector alive for questioning. As it was, Lucius saw Keori coming and managed to deflect the blow by using a thick wooden stool as a shield. Keori's sword imbedded itself in the wood and Keori released the wedged weapon instead of wasting time trying to pry it out. The coupled items fell to the ground with a thump and clatter as the two combatants circled each other conspicuously.

"What the hell's going on?"

"Hey, who the hell do you think you are!"

Shouts rang out from the guards standing nearest to the pair. Some guards began urging others to take arms against Keori who was attacking a comrade, but still others were subduing such attempts. Keori focused on his enemy with the single-mindedness of one possessed and ignored all outside accoutrements. Lucius made to grab a weapon nearby when Keori's lithe body leapt into the air to execute a flawless and precise blade kick to the man's back. Lucius was pitched forward to fall unceremoniously among the towels, whet stones, and stools where he flailed futilely in his haste to return to his feet. Keori was upon him in a flash, dodging the thrashing limbs expertly or blocking when avoidance was inefficient. Despite Keori's proficiency one especially powerful blow glanced off Keori's mouth which only infuriated Keori further. In moments Keori had Lucius on his feet with his arms trussed up behind him in a painful holding position while a thin rivulet of blood leaked from the side of Keori's mouth.

"Traitor!" Keori snarled vindictively. A flick of his wrist sent a dagger from his arm sheath to his hand and Keori poised the knife at the struggling man's throat. Lucius ceased resisting at the slightest pressure of the lengthy blade which was more than capable of ending his life.

"I don't know who you are or what you speak of!" Lucius cried in fictitious terror. From behind Keori couldn't see Lucius' face, but he could feel his false trembling and knew this man was appearing pathetic in hopes of a fellow guard saving him.

"You know full well how you killed that guard that went missing days ago! Who sent you?" Keori pressed the knife more firmly against the man's esophagus until a thin stream of blood appeared along the edge of the dagger.

"W-Who are...you; what right h-have you...to accuse me of such th-things?" the captured man rasped feebly in desperation. Keori sneered disgustedly and slowly lowered the knife until he held it suspended point first at Lucius' midsection.

"If you don't fess up I'm going to make sure you die painfully slow." Keori whispered viciously. Lucius threw back his head forcefully and struck Keori's cheek with a resounding crack that sent Keori's head reeling backward and struggled violently. Keori tightened his grip on the man and let out an explicative that was anatomically impossible before clenching his teeth against the throbbing pain in his cheek.

Noticing that his efforts were in vain, Lucius began pleading help from his comrades. Keori glared at those few who gripped their swords peremptorily.

"You try it and you'll never know the truth!" Keori snapped out through pain induced irritation. Every swordsman desisted, whether it was the desire to know the truth or just the fear of Keori's wrath that spurred them to do so was irrelevant. When Lucius realized his isolation he screamed in frustration and redoubled his efforts to escape Keori's iron grip.

"I'll never tell you a damn thing!" Keori's face could have been etched in stone at that precise moment and his eyes could only be described as dead or lifeless as he stared out at the fast accumulating assembly of spectators. Keori closed his eyes briefly, '_God forgive me_.' Without further deliberation Keori cruelly plunged the double sided blade into Lucius' vital organs and twisted it fantastically. A guttural scream filled Keori's ears and he had to keep himself from wincing, not from the grating noise but rather from the pain in his own side. '_Apparently I miscalculated the depth of penetration_.' Keori thought as he felt warm blood leak from his self-inflicted wound to seep into his and Lucius' clothing. The life fluid poured like crimson paint from the agonized man Keori held captive and flowed over Keori's right hand. Screams from the women and shouts from the men surrounding him didn't even register in Keori's peripheral awareness.

"Your accomplice?" Keori prompted emotionlessly.

Dark clouds of stony grey and inky black blotted out the sun that had been so intensely absorbing only moments before. A chilled wind picked up to whistle through the tensely gathered crowd. The guards were doing all in their power to hold back the curious and concerned lookers-on. Many men of the hoi polloi were demanding action and even some guards were fighting against their own who were trying to get to Keori. Children were crying and mothers were frantically trying to block the horrific view of the bloody torture from their innocent eyes. Suddenly the air became oppressive in a way that heralded a down pour and an ominous rumbling could be heard from afar.

Lightning exploded and sparked brilliantly in the anomalous storm sprung as if from thin air. A sharp crack of thunder shattered the stifling atmosphere accompanied by a craggy bolt of lightning that illuminated the nightly sky. Fat raindrops of sub-zero temperatures began to fall like hail onto the unsuspecting hordes. People began shivering uncontrollably and clutching at items or clothing for any kind of shelter from the phenomenon of glacial rain. However, no one left the frosty vicinity of the confrontation as if they were being drawn to it against their will. All these happenings escaped Keori's attentions; he was drenched within seconds and yet stood as stock still as a statue, unaffected.

"Your accomplice; and I won't be asking a third time." Keori repeated just as frigidly as the now raging, icy-tempest. Lucius shook his head numbly and mouthed a wordless plea for his life. Keori showed no outward signs of his displeasure but simply ripped the knife from his captive's, and consequently his own, body. Then he released the trembling man who staggered forward. One of the guards stepped forward to help his friend away, undoubtedly to a medic, but before Lucius was even halfway to the fellow guard Keori was crouched in front of him.

"Your life was forfeit the moment you killed that man." Keori's tone was flat and expressionless. In a spin move too fast for Lucius to see, dazed as he was by blood loss, Keori had disemboweled the man with his blood smeared dagger. Lucius gasped and his hands sought to shove his spilling organs back into the crevasse Keori had created. Lucius' friend shouted obscenities at Keori as tears mixed with raindrops streamed down his cheeks, and recklessly drew his sword. When the man went to charge Keori, who was starring stoically at Lucius who had fallen to his knees and was employed in grasping his desecrated body together uselessly, he was stopped by an older guard.

"Get out of my way you bastard! How can you all just stand by and watch that demon torment Lucius?" the young man screamed hysterically.

"Lucius all but admitted his guilt the second he refused to speak at all!" the older guard shouted back and shook the man forcefully for emphasis. "He isn't worth our sympathy." the man added gruffly and released the younger fellow. It seemed without the support of the older male the young guard was left to sink to the ground, weak kneed as he wept pitiably.

It was the soft weeping that broke the spell of Keori's concentration and he blinked against the unnaturally cold rain he was only then aware was falling from the furled clouds of pitch blackness. People stood all around him with legs and cloaks splattered with mud from the rain falling on the ground of dirt. Children's faces were tear-streaked and keening noises from infant babies carried through the high winds. Mothers eyed Keori cagily as if fearful he'd rip their children from their arms and torture the small helpless creatures. The men and guards formed a blockade between Keori and the people as if he were a feral beast on the loose that would ravage human flesh for the sole purpose of tasting blood.

Keori's eyes traveled to the body twitching on the ground; Lucius was still surprisingly conscious and indecipherable rasping noises issued from his throat intermittently. Keori felt bile rise to his throat and swallowed forcefully against the desire to dry heave. On shaky legs he walked unsteadily to Lucius' side and dropped painfully onto his knees beside the dying man. Lucius' eyes were pleading and Keori found himself cowardly avoiding the accusing stare. Taking the slippery dagger—he'd unconsciously been gripping it the whole time—Keori raised it above his head. Lucius saw the action and, in some corner of his awareness recognized it for what it was, then closed his eyes peacefully. Keori plunged the knife deep into Lucius' ribcage until it pierced the man's heart and killed him instantly. Keori did not release the knife but slumped over the body of his tortured victim as the tempest raged about him.

"Keori." the gravelly voice made Keori lift his head and glance to the sidelines where he saw Orland standing with Lord Van, Naomi, and the twins. They were all soaked as well and Naomi's dress was no longer spotless. Orland's eyes reflected nothing but understanding and a darkness that was all too familiar among those who'd seen innumerable battlefields strewn with the dead and decapitated. Naomi was staring at him in revulsion coupled with horror and accusation. Keori felt a pang in his heart when he looked on the twins who recoiled in fear when he met their eyes. He didn't dare look at his father, dreading to see disgust or something of similar kind turned his way.

Keori allowed his gaze to travel to the velvety black clouds above and felt remorse for yet another manifestation caused by his wayward gift, or curse. His passionate feelings of rage and regret had taken the shape of the storm around them when he'd released his control over them. Now, Keori reigned in those feelings of guilt and shame until, once again, they were bottled deep inside. As he bent over the form of Lucius' carcass the first rays of the sun began stabbing through the fast dissipating thunder heads. Keori lifted the lifeless corpse into his arms and, making sure he left no part of the man's body behind, carried it toward the gates of the castle.

"Keori." Orland called a second time and treaded forward through the muck but halted when Keori looked up warningly. Keori stepped through the gates separating the inner castle from the outer market and continued on through. The crowds and milling people stopped to stare at the bloodied boy carrying an even bloodier corpse. Keori stared straight ahead with only one destination in mind.

~*~*~

Keori knelt beside the large mound of churned clay and whispered a prayer over the buried body beneath. Fast drying mud caked his damp clothes as the sun shined brilliantly on the small graveside at the outskirts of the third wall. Keori rocked on his heels with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, praying for the dead man's soul and pulling his ears in distress. When he'd finished Keori stared hard at his hands which had dirt buried deeply beneath the fingernails and red smears of blood peeking from beneath the layer of grime. '_Why? Why did you have to kill him?_' he asked himself distraughtly as he clenched his fists. At that moment Keori would give anything to take back the deed even though he knew he'd given the man fair warning. '_What was so god damned important that he would throw away his life rather than expose?_' These questions and more, questions of the deceased's motivation and questions of his own culpability, haunted Keori's mind at the grave side of the first man he'd ever killed.

It was one thing to duel a man and know he had the potential power to kill him, it was quite another to actually carry through with that power and accept the responsibility for another's death on his own conscience. Keori felt the eminent sorrow weigh upon his shoulders and slammed two balled fists into the malleable mound in front of him. Choked sobs issued forth from his throat though he tried his best to suppress the emotion. When a soft mist of rain floated gently to the earth Keori chose to think that Fanelia was crying for her lost son who had lost his childhood innocence that day. So profound was Keori's grief that he failed to detect the presence of two others watching him from afar.

* * *

DEDICATED TO ANONYMOUS who's been with me since day one though I didn't know it! ^.^

**Chapter 16: Accusations and Speculation**

The murky depths swirled lethargically with blood, mud, and gore until the porcelain bottom was undistinguishable. Brown streaks and prints congealed around the rim like ancient hieroglyphs on pot shards or assorted artifacts. A pair of equally grubby hands hovered above the brim before submerging into the filthy water. The slap of wet cloth into the ghastly liquid was quickly accompanied by a cascading splash. The bronzed hands lifted the stained cloth and rung it powerfully. The washed out, reddish water trickled like thinned blood over the damp hands to make glistening pathways down the forearms and elbows attached. The rag was then lifted to an oozing wound where the hands dabbed gently.

The skin around the gash was quickly turning a bluish black color that looked frostbitten rather than badly bruised. Pallid skin puckered around the injury as scarlet blood leaked steadily from it. The piercing pain was like applying salt to an already festering abrasion. Keori's answering explicative ended on a hiss as he ground his teeth and tears sprang to his eyes. With careful precision he wiped at the fine specks of dirt imbedded in his lacerated flesh. His intent was to clean the lesion, yet each tentative stroke sent flaming pain coursing through his prone form like white-hot pokers. '_Gotta hand it to you, Keori, to give yourself more than a knick. No, you have to...fucking shit!_' Keori's mental tirade was reduced to ear-blistering cursing when he brushed a particularly sensitive area and pain exploded behind his eyes.

Feeling nauseous, and reeling from what was undoubtedly severe blood loss, Keori dropped the sullied linen into the repugnant wash water. The putrid liquid sloshed disgustingly over the rim onto the moist stone floor and the appalling pile of rags strewn beside the bowl. What had once been Keori's pristine uniform now grotesquely resembled dead skin flayed from human flesh. Seeing the blood soaked strips of material sent Keori into a downward spiral of remembrance. Keori closed his eyes and allowed the tidal wave of self-loathing, regret, and pain to wash over him. All his tears were spent; nothing would bring back the dead man buried in the blood stained mud outside the castle gates. Shaking his head Keori reached for the clean bandages he'd filched from the supplies closet and winced from pain. Gingerly he began to tightly wind the wide ribbon of colorless linen around his midsection. With shallow breaths and many whispered oaths Keori managed to bind his wound. Next the injured boy reached for a silk shirt of pure white and black slacks...

~*~*~

Keori huffed slightly from the exertion of traversing the corridors on his way to the dining hall. It took all his strength not to lean weakly against the cool stone walls that loomed invitingly beside him. Two guards stood at attention outside the oak wood doors and Keori could hear the raised voices within. '_Damn, I'm late_.' Keori's mind muttered in displeasure. As he reached the sentry Keori squared his shoulders and dropped his expressionless mask into place. With a nod to the sentinels Keori entered the loud chamber, sword chinking pleasantly at his side like an item of security. The banqueting hall became considerably more quite upon his appearance.

Keori's eyes traveled the length of the immensely occupied room. The large table spanned enormously across the hall, overfilled with platters of venison: beef, pork, lamb, mutton, chicken, and ham in the shape of legs, thighs, livers, breasts, and any imaginable form. Vegetables of ruby red, canary yellow, amethyst purple, sunset orange, ashy white, and the deepest, richest green were prepared in an assortment of ways including: stir fried, steamed, baked, boiled, mashed, stewed, and raw. Fruit that were sour, tart, tangy, sweet, and juicy adorned the table in the shape of pies, puddings, salads, gelatins, and jams. The heavenly aroma of steaming vittles assaulted Keori's nostrils churning his queasy stomach into knots of tension. Around the table sat the overly conceited aristocrats of the nation along with King Dryden, Queen Millerna, Allen, and the royal family minus one royal mother.

Keori's face was wan and his eyes were strained around the corners as he made his way gallantly to his place at the table. He caught sight of the menacing glares thrown his way by the nobility who had known the outspoken guard, Lucius. Some of the stares reflected fear and aversion; when Keori met their gazes, they recoiled from him. There were only a choice few whose eyes offered sympathy or at least understanding. Keori didn't acknowledge anyone, so focused was he on not showing any of the excruciating pain he felt. If he even allowed appreciation or antipathy to show in his eyes he would lose his mask of indifference. Only one stare seemed to penetrate Keori's repellant fields. The eyes of Minister Regis bore into him like a viper's fangs and Keori couldn't prevent the familiar chill of apprehension skating up his spine. The narrow eyes resembled a cat's sharp gaze though Regis' eyes were silver like the blade of a deadly sword. '_I wonder if they glow in the dark?_' he thought almost giddily before averting his gaze from the ominous glare.

Keori reached his seat between Allen and the pompous, obese aristocrat he'd come to know as Lord Rourke Rethwellan. Only the slight sheen of clammy sweat on his brow and the less than pronounced lines around his grim mouth provided evidence of Keori's struggle. Keori took only a second to compose his features before dipping into a formal bow of apology that had his midsection screaming bloody hell and his eyes squeezing tightly shut to stem burning tears threatening to fall.

"Your Majesty, I apologize for the lateness of my arrival." Keori managed to utter reverently in a slightly guttural voice. Keori straightened only after he was sure his disguise of unfeeling was firmly in place. Then Keori took his seat without even a wince to show his extreme discomfort or pain.

Van's eyes regarded Keori calmly in a manner that clearly indicated the mode of conversation he'd just interrupted. '_He's judging me_.' Keori realized as the prolonged stare continued its assessment. Keori nervously slid his gaze to Naomi who was currently staring avidly at her plate as she apathetically pushed her provisions around it. When Keori did not remove his attention from her Naomi glanced up and, in that moment, her eyes met his and flashed with steely hatred. She clearly held him accountable for Lucius' unnecessary suffering whether he was a traitor or not. Keori almost recoiled from the emotional turmoil of revulsion, loathing, and even fear. He was so struck by Naomi's abhorrence that he felt a pinching pain in his heart and a constriction of his lungs. Keori quickly tore his gaze away and came face to face with the identical twins. Benjiro and Jiro watched him almost nervously as if they were unsure of what exactly to think about his actions. Whereas they'd been fearful in the heat of the moment the twins now regarded him more curiously in the presence of their father. When Jiro's eyes flicked to Van expectantly Keori knew the boys would condemn him or condone him as the king determined his guilt or innocence. Keori waited patiently for a sign as the hole in his side thrummed painfully with every beat of his heart.

"Well, I say he should be executed on the spot." Lord Dedrick Dumont continued snidely as if Keori's presence was inconsequential to the discussion that had been disrupted upon his entrance. '_Never mind the fact they're determining whether I live or die_.' Keori thought morbidly. Dumont sat three places down the table from Orland, who sat directly across from Keori's usual place. The pale blue eyes glittered in the pallid face and regarded Keori sanctimoniously as he voiced the topic on everyone's minds and awaited Van's reply.

"Yes, he murdered, no, tortured Lucius under the implications of treason. What proof have you boy? Own up!" Rethwellan snarled and pounded the table for emphasis right under Keori's nose as his face took on that habitual blotchy appearance when angered. Without pausing for an answering response the whale of a man stood from his seat commandeering the attention of all those present.

"This, this despicable boy killed our comrade, our friend in the grizzliest way, without mercy! We all heard him call Lucius a traitor and a murderer but I see no body, no proof of this accusation. What gives him the right, a foreigner, to single out and condemn random people to death?" Rethwellan demanded sternly in a booming voice that carried clearly throughout the room. Fists pounded on the table causing platters of victuals to jump obediently, some even spilled onto the embroidered table cloth. Heads nodded vigorously in agreement with Rethwellan's words. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of his pain hazed mind, Keori acknowledged the possibility of his being executed but at the moment he was too concentrated on remaining lucid and emotionally repressed. Keori had no idea what would happen if he empathetically passed his pain onto the full chamber of people. And, as much as he wouldn't mind making the overtly pretentious legislators feel his pain in retribution for their crass accusations his integrity and conscience were too far ingrained in his persona to stoop so low.

"Evidence is decidedly lacking, there's no question of that." the smooth, silken voice of Minister Regis penetrated the noisy chamber with even more force then Rethwellan's hollering ever could. The minister exuded the aura of significance, an I'm-a-snarky-bastard-that-can-make-your-life-immensly-complicated-if-you-don't-listen-to-me presence. Van's eyes left Keori to regard his religious councilor and his head inclined to acknowledge the truth of the statement.

"I'm well aware of the facts. I myself have found this situation a, how should I call it, a conundrum." Van said calmly, quietly.

"You can't really be entertaining ideas of execution My Lord! Lucius as much as admitted his guilt when he said he wouldn't say anything." Radames Tariq, the oldest active guard in Fanelia protested earnestly. Tariq stood an astonishing 6' 10" with windswept sandy-ash blond locks and tawny brown eyes that regarded Keori respectfully. The muscular swordsman had seen and spoken with Keori on occasion when Keori was resting after training or waiting for Jiro and Ben for lessons. The effort and sweat that Keori put into his swordsmanship was often the cause of respect and deference on behalf of the older guardsmen and it was no different with Tariq.

"I'd thought of that myself, Tariq." Van rejoined, ignoring Tariq's presumptuous remark with the ease instilled of years knowing each other. "The only person who has reason to speak on either behalf is Mr. Kan...odd thing...I don't hear **him** saying a word." Van continued seriously.

All eyes turned to Keori who was staring keenly at the basket of fruit in front of him but more specifically the pimply skin of an orange midway up the stack. The multiple grooves were very dense and innumerable which is probably why he was studiously trying to count them; anything to focus on besides the escalating pain in his side was a welcome distraction, words being too complicated to comprehend with his aching head.

"Keori...Keori?" Allen's voice was a dull, annoying, incessant mumbling in Keori's peripheral hearing. '_Seventy-four, seventy-five, shit I think it's bled through my bandage...fifty-what...Wait, wasn't it e-eighty or something?..._' Keori's eyes stared at the spherical fruit as if it held all the secrets of the universe within its fleshy shell. Then suddenly Keori's pain induced world went crashing back to the banqueting chamber of Fanelia when someone elbowed him squarely in his injured side.

Keori blanched, his already ashen skin tone became pasty as any blood that had retained its position in his face drained to leave a wraithlike sallowness. Pain exploded from his side as if boiled water ran beneath his skin and serrated along his spine like a knife being dragged up his vertebrae. Spots of black clouded his wavering vision like stars bursting in a sick parody of a fireworks display. Keori's pastel-pink lips compressed into a thin, white line; the only sound that escaped him was a throaty moan. Keori's hand instinctively clutched his side as he blinked rapidly against his tears.

"Keori? What's wrong?" Orland's voice was harsh and demanding as he took in Keori's extreme reaction. Naomi looked up from her decimated cuisine to observe this new development in her newly sworn enemy.

For a moment Keori daren't open his mouth for fear of the choking scream escaping his lips and never ceasing. His eyes rolled as the agonizing, unbearable, excruciating pain pulsated through his frail misused body. Swallowing with intense effort Keori managed to open his mouth with only a wheeze of pain.

"I'm fine...I think...I think I'll go...lie down." Keori managed to gasp out laboriously. Two severely trembling hands grasped the edge of the table and pushed outward. Keori stood stiffly, struggling to control the urge to cringe against the bombardment of pain. As he turned away from the table a sparse few crystalline tears escaped the corners of his eyes. With forced slowness Keori made the tedious journey toward the doorway, his right hand gripped his inflamed wound and his left was fisted while he held his arm rigidly at his side. '_Just a few more feet...you can do it, don't give in...don't give up!_' Keori's mind encouraged breathlessly.

As they watched Keori's back retreat from the table the others heard a screeched eep! The source of the shriek was Montgomery Clement, a rather fearful man, who was currently pointing a shaking finger at the edge of the table. The man's dull, watery green eyes were wide and the pupils were dilated until the green irises were needle slim bands around the orbs of ebony. His thin-lipped mouth was moving soundlessly in incomprehensible mutterings, but the words were unnecessary as all eyes focused on the source of such horrification. There, seeping ever so slowly into the cloth swathed sepia wood like crimson sap was the bloody imprint of a hand. Four fingers on the table top, a rectangle strip across the edge, and a thumb impression on the side of the rectangle added up to the exacting grip of one pushing out from the table. Gasps were heard all around and Naomi covered her mouth to muffle the distressed cry that escaped her rosy lips.

"Keori." Orland muttered softly before his eyes narrowed and he leapt from his seat sending the fragile chair smashing to the stone ground. "Keori!" Orland shouted to the figure that was but ten feet from the entryway. Keori ignored the call, took two more shuffling steps toward freedom, and crumpled without a sound to the floor.

"Keori!" Orland called blaringly before throwing etiquette to the winds and vaulting the table to rush to the boy's prone body. Allen reached Keori's side at a close second; Orland had already raised Keori's head onto his lap and Allen could hear Keori murmuring weakly to the Arms Master.

"I'm...'m f-fine...just (**gasp)** t-tired...pu-lease (**guttural groan)** don' (**choking swallow)** worry." Keori slurred feebly as his face screwed up into an expression of pure agony. His glazed eyes wandered sightlessly at his surroundings through the immeasurable pain he suffered. Thick locks of pitch-black hair were plastered to Keori's sweating forehead and the ghastly paleness of his skin was making Orland think of those grey bodies on the ghostly battlefield. Keori's emerald eyes were dull and glassy, lifeless would almost be the best word to describe them except for the tremendous pain reflecting within them. Keori lay limply except when an acutely excruciating pain laced his body and sent him thrashing weakly in search of some relief, arms and legs flopped infinitesimally as all strength had left him. Orland frowned at the boy's stupidity and began to look for the hidden wound. It didn't take long as Keori's right hand, which had flopped inertly to the ground, had been covering the hole in his side and had been consequently covered in blood at the same time.

By then a small crowd had gathered and people were loudly speculating about what happened or demanding explanations for this sudden turn of events. Rethwellen was obnoxiously bellowing about Keori trying to garner sympathy by purposely injuring himself. Orland, hearing the comment, almost bound to his feet to sock the ignorant popinjay dressed in a flamboyant blue-violet suit. Only Keori's rasping cry prevented the action and had Orland ordering Allen to help him remove Keori's silk shirt and bandage which was steeped in blood.

When the gory silk, and soft linen, were removed those who looked on recoiled silently or inhaled sharply at the sight of the wound. The puckered skin was black and as dark red blood flowed out of the angry gap it was supplemented by a yellowish-white substance. Orland experimentally pinched the wound which elicited a hoarse scream from Keori and a trickle of more disgusting pus.

"Infected already." Orland announced and shook his head gravely. But, before he could do anymore for his reputed apprentice a forceful voice demanded a pathway be provided to the kneeling pair. In moments Queen Millerna was crouched over Keori and examining the wound closely.

"He's penetrated the skin pretty deeply and the wound's infected; I need him on a table immediately and someone bring my medical bag." Millerna commanded in her no-nonsense voice that all doctors hold in common when faced with a medical emergency. At first no one moved but when Millerna snarled viciously at them they scurried to do her bidding.

A table was prepared in an adjoining room with a sheet spread over it. Candles were toted, arranged, and lit for more illumination besides the levi-stone generated lighting. Water was boiled, tools were sterilized, towels and blankets were carried and used, and Keori was deposited on the makeshift operation table. The door was shut against any curious or infectious intruders as Millerna worked, with the brute help of Orland and Allen, on Keori's wound. A few crew members from the Crusade waited impatiently outside for any news on the health of one they had come to think of as their own. Lord Van also awaited the verdict on his young charge though his mind was duly employed with speculation on the origin of the wound, **could** it truly be self-inflicted?

* * *

**Chapter 17: Lost and Found**

* * *

Gu-gunk...gu-gunk...flashes of metallic sparks glow diaphanously in the dull gloom of the night...gu-gunk...gu-gunk...Red-quartz fires writhe in the harsh air-current and hiss in the blistering rain with serpentine fury...gu-gunk gu-gunk...Charred trees with blackened bark reach up craggy limbs in entreaty as wisps of smoke dissipate into the stratosphere...gu-gunk gu-gunk...Smoke grey and granite black clouds clump ominously in the heavens like the smiting hand of God. The gale, like a dragon's breath, perpetuates the growth of the raging inferno. Bushes burst into impressive spheres of combustible tinder before crumpling, just as swiftly, into piles of glowing embers, and then ash. The very earthen floor is scorched as if demons or Lucifer himself was standing, or had stood, there to observe the delicious devastation...gu-gunk gu-gunk gu-gunk...The roar is deafening though the billowing clouds above remain portentously silent. There, on the field of carnage are the sources of such expansive demolition. Gleaming malevolently in the flickering conflagrations, and partly obscured by the thick vapor are the cloaked machines of massacre. Lustrous weapons of satanic molten metal ring above the crackling dissonance of the sapping flames. Like wraiths of the underworld, they lay waste to all they touched...gu-gunk gu-gunk gu-gunk...

He stood there, paralyzed, starring in horrified silence as the heat of the coalescing fires singed his hair and lit his face demonically. Suffocating smoke clogged his nostrils and burned his lungs until he couldn't even recall what fresh air smelled like, and doubted he ever would again. Soot and cinders brushed across his face making his eyes water and redden in irritation. Warmth seemed to lacerate his skin and drum onto his head as the wind whisked the stinging liquid from the sky against his motionless form. Lifting his hand in uncomprehending bemusement he saw it shimmering crimson in the dancing blaze...gu-gunk gu-gunk gu-gunk gu-gunk gu-gunk...Stumbling backwards and consequently falling on his rump, he wiped frantically at his bloody appendage. The pawing only served to augment the area of contamination; and soon he could taste the coppery wetness in his mouth.

Then, with a flash of insight, or more like a stunning glance to his other limbs, he came to the realization that he was entirely drenched in blood. Looking up, and blinking against the burgundy globules, he could see that the sky was pouring thick, red-black beads of blood. '_**No!**_' His mind screamed in denial as the heavens marked him a murderer with another's life essence. No matter how he scoured and scratched at his blood-stained hands he could not rid himself of the ghastly dye and only aided in pushing the gore irrevocably under his skin and nails. Trembling, he gripped his shoulders, arms crossed over his chest, searching to comfort himself in the hellish nightmare. While hyperventilating he rocked rapidly, dislodging thick scarlet drops from the corners of his eyes, enhancing the impression that he was crying tears of blood...gu-gunk gu-gunk gu-gunk gu-gunk gu-gunk...

* * *

Keori jerked awake gasping for air while sweat trickled profusely down his neck into the already damp feather bed. Heart thumping spasmodically against his ribcage, Keori grappled with the fact he'd been dreaming, not a vision; '_Just a dream_.' Keori's mind almost sounded convincing. His eyes danced wildly around the unfamiliar room taking a cursory glance that proved him to be alone and in no impending danger. The source of his discomfort and asphyxiation turned out to be his bulky, twisted bed coverings. Keori struggled breathlessly to kick them off and flopped back after the accomplishment, panting heavily. Flashing recollections passed before his minds-eye and Keori muffled a wail of despair that threatened to break forth from his lips so that it came out sounding more like a strangled whimper.

'_God, I murdered him in cold blood; what right had I to take his life?_' Keori's thoughts circled despondently. '_You know he was guilty. You did nothing more then your father did to Dilandau's Dragon Slayers_.' a small voice consoled from somewhere in the far reaches of his conscience. '_This wasn't a __**war**__! During peacetime people don't go around executing traitors on the spot!_' Keori's anguished mental voice shouted in return. His heart constricted excruciatingly and Keori curled upon himself as he winced in self-disgust. The dull ache of his wound paled in comparison to his emotional guilt. For several breaths Keori wallowed in self-incriminatory thoughts and called himself innumerable names, none of them flattering, before he acknowledged the inanity and unproductiveness of his current actions.

Sitting up with a minimal amount of flinching Keori took note that his torso was wrapped expertly with smooth linen that scented of herbal anti-bacterial cream. He was sitting on a down mattress in what appeared to be some sort of medical ward within the castle. Five other fine-grained, pine-framed beds with fluff mattresses and cotton spreads occupied the room. Keori's bed was the only one that had pillows (stacked behind him) and a thick comforter (residing on the floor where he'd kicked it) included with the sterile setting. The room was in all probability the most austere in the entire castle. The only furniture besides the beds were two side tables used, presumably, to hold medical tools during surgery and a metal cabinet where the said tools were supposedly stored. The stone walls lacked any heat trapping tapestries and were scoured with disinfectant until they all but glittered in the sunlight pouring through the high glass windows. Keori understood then why he'd been covered in his sleep; the fear of pneumonia setting in was a valid concern when coupled with the fact that the room reached fairly low temperatures at night.

Having assessed his surroundings and deeming them unsuitable, Keori gingerly tested his ability to stand with out fainting on the spot. Aside from a slight, almost imperceptible moment of dizziness and wobbly legs he seemed unaffected. '_So far, so good_.' Keori monitored optimistically. He also felt a moment of gratitude to whoever clad him in a pair of light golden brown leather breeches. Foregoing the search for a shirt, which was clearly without evidence in the Spartan room, Keori slowly made his way to the closed door.

As he walked Keori could feel a bit of strength slowly seep into his unsteady legs and wondered vaguely how long he'd been cooped up in that hospital bed. Keori's side injury stretched slightly; but, the twinge of pain that accompanied his movement was a mere irritant at most which verified the healing state of the laceration. Reaching out a steady hand, Keori opened the door and peered around it to observe the disserted hall. Then, with only one backward glance Keori ducked out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

~*~ three hours later ~*~

Keori had known from the moment he'd left the stark familiarity of his sick room that he had never traversed the halls of the adjoining wing. Instead of returning to the medical 'jail' and waiting patiently for someone to remember his existence, Keori had decided in full confidence that he could easily find his way to more accustomed surroundings. Now, however, he was thoroughly lost and on his last legs. '_Moron, this is the last time you substitute yourself for a pincushion and get the gall to deem yourself immortal_.' Keori berated mentally as he leaned tiredly against the wall. His trembling legs threatened to fold under him, had in fact collapsed beneath him twice already in his fruitless search for the sterile room he'd started from!

A steady thrumming noise in Keori's ear attested to a building headache and did nothing to improve his debilitating disorientation. '_Oh, what an honorable end to my short life, fainting dead away in an isolated hallway to parish from starvation!_' Keori's thoughts were morbidly sarcastic. The likelihood of his dying anytime soon, least of all from starvation, was as probable as Regis offering Keori a place as an acolyte under the severe minister's tutelage. Keori snorted at the very idea, '_the day that __**Thing**__ becomes my master is the day I realize I've died and gone to hell_.' Such an invigorating conviction brought Keori to his next point; he decided the second worst thing that could happen, would be for Regis himself to find Keori in his present predicament. With thoughts of the insidious smirking minister as motivation Keori managed to push himself away from the wall and stumble faintly down the corridor.

Keori knew staggering around aimlessly was reckless and detrimental to his health; the chances of his fainting or falling down a stairwell were unequivocally more probable then his reaching either of his destinations in his current state of fatigue. '_This is getting ridiculous! I should just find a room and stay put!_' Keori's frustration was augmented by the incessant pounding in his temple and he could be seen gripping his hair in a flustered manner. Stumbling a little further down the current hall he was in Keori came to rest on a wall, which suddenly gave way beneath him. With an embarrassingly shrill cry of alarm and the thought of '_Shit, I'm gonna die from being clumsy!_' Keori fell backward and landed on his rump.

Clutching his eyes tightly shut, he grunted on impact and awaited the quick descent to death. However, gravity had apparently stopped working or Keori had missed the whole bashing experience on the stairs because he was no longer falling and his heart rate was slowly returning to normal. Keori hazarded opening one eye, thinking perhaps he was caught on something that would soon give way and allow him to topple to his impending death. All he saw though, when he peeked through a slit eye, was a cavernous room with finely embroidered chairs set in an amphitheater style. Keori was sitting in one of the red carpeted aisles facing the door that, having not been completely shut, yielded under his weight. Feeling foolish and not a little daft, Keori gingerly gained his feet and made his way to the center of the room.

The stage was a simple affair made of oak wood and sanded to perfection, but that wasn't what caught Keori's attention. The sleek, gleaming black, uniquely shaped instrument was what drew Keori onto the raised platform. The curved side, wide top, and intricately carved legs whispered refined elegance and taste. The harmonious strings were pulled tight in various lengths of shimmering twilight, taunting him to caress their delicately tuned components. The ivory keys enticed him to touch and the superbly tanned leather stool begged to be exploited. Keori slid with fluid grace onto the softly worn seat and placed his fingers peremptorily above the keys. Then, without further deliberation besides picking an emotion to display, he began to stroke the keys.

Sweetly sorrowful notes surrounded Keori and he closed his eyes in surrender to his inner turmoil. The music flowed from his tormented heart to the tips of his fingers and out of the grand instrument. The pale keys were slightly indented as if rubbed lovingly through many years by caring hands. The notes were just as melodious as any he could have hoped to produce from his old second-hand, baby-grand back home, better in fact. It was a wonder that they even had such instruments in Gaea, though he recalled the mention of Naomi having a violin.

Oh, how he could recall the wintry nights back home when the cold wind blew making the wind chime ring cacophonously and the shutters clatter. He would curl beside his mother at the tender age of three and play for her the few notes of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" he'd just learnt from his tutor. Warm against her bosom he would frown in concentration trying to please her with his supposed exceptional talent as little worry lines etched his forehead. Every time he struck a wrong note his bottom lip would tremble, but she would laugh and urge him to try again. Pretty soon he used up his repertoire of songs, three, and began to make more and more mistakes in trying to imitate newer songs he'd heard from his professor. Before he could be discouraged though his mother would chuckle appreciatively so that he resorted to banging out any old thing that was often more headache inducing than soothing as he'd meant it to be. He would giggle afterward and she would kiss him and thank him for his magnificent musicianship even if she'd have a migraine until morning when she'd have to get up and work two jobs to pay for his private sword lessons and the newly begun piano lessons.

Giving birth to him at sixteen had stigmatized his mother, Hitomi, in the eyes of those her age; and, the consequent death of her parents, Keori's grandparents, four years after his birth had left Hitomi floundering between being a child and an adult at the same time. It was a miracle that Hitomi managed to get her high school diploma before the tragic accident took the lives of her supporting pillars. Keori's uncle had been placed in foster care, but being twenty and an unwed young mother, Hitomi was left to fend for herself and her toddler. Her savings and inheritance kept her and Keori alive until she could get a job and a babysitter. Tough years followed with his mother attending night school and working two jobs to support them; not to mention she had to deal with an emotionally unstable child who could see visions of a war torn past and influence the present and future just by feeling...

As the stray, melancholic thoughts of his mother invaded his mind Keori hit a sour note. Cringing inwardly he closed off that thought process and stilled his aching fingers. It'd been a while since he'd played, at least a few months and he hadn't even warmed up with some scales first. Wincing visibly at the thought of what Master Riuden would say Keori gently closed the lid above the keys; he wondered who had allowed it to stay open to possibly become dusty from disuse.

"I didn't think it was that bad except for that last note. It was very sad though." a feminine voice piped suddenly. Startled, Keori reached instinctively for his sword which he belatedly realized he hadn't had since waking in the strange hospital room. He swiveled around to get a good look at his adversary and to gauge the possibility of defeating her at less than half strength.

Seeing Naomi dressed in one of her clean cut gowns reassured his safety, but did nothing to settle his nerves as he awaited her biting comments on his homicidal tendencies. He watched her warily through a fringe of bangs and remained silent, prepared to take any criticism she had to offer; after all, he agreed with her.

"Everyone has been looking for you for the past two hours. I wasn't aware you knew of this wing, let alone that you knew how to play." Naomi explained quietly, gesturing to the piano while averting her gaze from Keori.

"I wasn't aware this area was off limits, I apologize for the intrusion." Keori murmured with forced sincerity; the music had provided him an outlet, however temporary, for his emotions and he detested apologizing for it. Without waiting for an answer Keori stood with artificial control, using the piano to steady his weak legs, and began to amble firmly toward the door.

"You don't have to apologize; there aren't any rules against being here. However, I would advise you to lose that cocky attitude before you get yourself lost...again." Naomi's voice was matter-of-fact but, when Keori turned to look at her, the piercing glare was directed to a point over his left shoulder.

"If I scare you that much why did you come looking for me with the others?" Keori made certain to guard his expression, although he couldn't completely mask the hurt that crept into his voice. Naomi's cheeks flushed brilliantly and her eyes flew swiftly to meet Keori's pained gaze.

"It...It's not that," Naomi stammered and took a deep breath, "I know now that what you did was for the good of the kingdom. Don't think for a minute that my saying that means I believe in your methods, but I do understand the sentiment behind it." Naomi sighed and her eyes seemed unfocused in a way that implied she was remembering something at the moment.

"If it's not that, then why are you avoiding me?" Keori asked carefully, not sure if he really wanted to know. '_At least she doesn't hate me anymore...I wonder why she changed her mind?_' Naomi coughed subtly and the rosy tinge became more pronounced on her cheeks.

"I don't think my mother would condone my starring at a half-naked man." Naomi murmured shyly, her eyes flickered briefly to Keori's well-toned, half-bandaged chest before sliding promptly away again. At once Keori felt the heat of blood rushing to his face in an identical blush and, with a mental curse, turned away before stalking to the door.

"Well, are you going to show me the way?" Keori demanded without turning around. His voice was laced with irritation to mask his embarrassment. The answering snigger only served to irk him more as Naomi flounced out of the door.

"You know, you're really cute when you blush like that."

* * *

**Chapter 18: Numb**

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Chapter songs: Crawling/Numb by Linkin Park

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

As they traversed the halls Keori and Naomi had slowly become more subdued. Keori, walking in Naomi's wake, stayed close to the undecorated walls of the strange corridors they were passing through. Every once in a while he would lean sideways so that the rough hewn, cool grey stones would sooth his perspiring brow. Naomi glanced toward Keori every few seconds to see if he still followed and Keori had the sneaking suspicion that his expression was revealing far too much of his weakened state.

"Are you all right?" Naomi questioned, concerned as he stumbled slightly. Keori sucked up a breath and jerked his head in a nod. His bare feet were going numb from the uncarpeted floor and he wondered dimly why this hall was lacking in all the accoutrements found in all other parts of the castle. He had thought the hospital room austere but compared to these antechambers it had been quite lavish. There was also a sense of age to these stones as if they weren't entirely compatible with the rest of the castle.

"I always get an eerie feeling walking in these halls. They're actually part of the old castle, before the war destroyed it. When I was a young girl I used to think ghosts and spirits of the dead haunted here and that was why everything was so disturbingly quiet." Naomi stated suddenly as if she could read Keori's thoughts. Keori looked with renewed interest at the walls and noticed how the stones here were darker then the newer parts.

"I thought it all burned down; how did they manage...to clean off the scorch marks?" Keori questioned a little breathlessly as he forced himself to keep shuffling forward, one foot in front of the other.

"They mostly scrapped the soot off with iron brushes and soap mixed with sand. I once asked my father why he didn't just knock these few rooms down and rebuild the castle entirely...He said that to do so would dishonor all those who fought to preserve it in the war. I didn't really understand but, after seeing the anguish in his eyes, I never asked him again. I think memories of the war, of all the people he lost, cause him great sorrow and I don't have the heart to bring it up."

As Naomi recounted her memory she glanced toward Keori who quickly straightened from the awkward position of walking while trailing, or leaning, a shoulder on the wall. Her reddish-brown gaze, so much like their father's, widened with clear concern and she reached out a hesitant hand as if to aide him before retracting it again.

"You really shouldn't be walking in your condition." Naomi whispered tremulously as she gripped her hands together anxiously. Keori wondered distractedly if she was bothered that he might faint or something. He was broken from his musings though as the sound of raised voices reached their ears from around the next turn in the corridor.

"...He's nothing but a backwoods country boy searching for fame and glory at the cost of my men!"

"He wouldn't kill arbitrarily like that!" The blaring shouts ricocheted down the hall with startling clarity. Keori immediately recognized his father's voice and, judging by the mortified blush on her face, so had Naomi. The other voice, gruff and harshly grating, was easily perceived as Orland's. '_Oh god, they're arguing about me_.' Keori thought despondently as he shambled forward slowly. Naomi refused to meet Keori's gaze as they made their way ever closer to the origin of the commotion. Around the next turn and halfway down the acoustically sound hall stood a door slightly ajar, the obvious source of the noise.

"He's never given any reason for us to trust him. In fact, he's given us plenty of reasons not to! What makes you trust in him so blindly to the point of fault?" Van roared the question so that it echoed many times in the adjoining corridor.

"I can't believe that he would stab himself to seek pity, his honor wouldn't allow it!"

"Are we talking of the same boy who snuck into my castle, who attacked an unarmed man from behind, and who has run away from his room? Abner's assessment is far more likely then..." Van began to bellow before Orland interrupted him.

"I don't believe a goddamn word of it! You know my views concerning Priest Regis and I am not inclined to hash it out with you again." Orland snarled viciously.

"You won't even consider Father Regis' valid points and yet you expect me to take your word over his without any proof? Think about it, Kan attacked Lucius and throughout the whole ordeal he had the upper hand. There was no way he could've been dealt that blow without inflicting it himself!"

Keori and Naomi reached the partly open doorway in time to see Van's furious face at this exclamation. Van's eyes were a mottled crimson resembling congealed blood though they blazed with a living fire of exceptional rage. His once admirable smile was twisted into a sneering scowled that accentuated the firm set of his stubborn jaw. All the shouting had brought a reddish tint to Van's face and his hair was skewed messily as if he'd run his hands through it angrily. Currently he stood with his hands fisted on his hips while leaning forward slightly in an unconscious effort to intimidate.

Orland, who stood across from him, didn't look any better and probably more hideous given his usual sour expression. The scarred man stood with feet braced apart and muscles tensed as if preparing to attack his crowned king. The murderous glint in his bottomless black eyes and the snarling turn of mouth left Orland resembling a feral dog. Keori was stunned that white foam didn't spout from his gnashing teeth. Keori observed in complete silence as the battle with words continued.

"You ask me why I'm so eager to defend the boy, well, why are you so hell bent on persecuting him?" Orland ground out with an audible grating of his teeth.

"Are you implying that I am not being fair in my consideration of this boy?" Van demanded hotly.

"I believe we are beyond implications at this point." Orland snapped aggressively.

"You will watch how you speak to your king unless you wish that I **had** killed you those years ago! I may not find the mercy in me to spare you a second time." What had started out in a full blown bellow ended in a deadly serious growl.

"Yes, Your Highness." Orland's answer came out clipped and stiff in a monotone lacking any respect or contempt. Orland's face went as hard as granite and his eyes turned cruelly unto Van allowing his king to see his displeasure in such a coward's way out of an argument.

"If that is all Your Highness, I will..." Orland began in a vacant tone lacking any inflection whatsoever before he stopped short. Naomi, who had been peering over Keori's shoulder, had leaned a little too far forward and caused the door to shift and creak. Keori winced as the loud groan permeated the inner chamber. Both inhabitants turned their piercing glares to the intruders to see Keori and Naomi in the doorway. Van had enough presence of mind to look contrite after being found in a yelling match by his daughter though it didn't last very long.

"Add eavesdropping onto the list." The almost smug way with which Van calmly said that made Keori cringe. '_Does he hate me so much, regard me so little that my culpability has become a game to him?_'

"Actually father, you requested Keori be brought to you the moment he was found. I'm afraid he got lost in the castle. I led him here knowing where you'd be and I meant no disrespect but you were so...preoccupied that I failed to draw your attention to our arrival." Naomi explained primly. Van looked duly chastised though it was clear by his next words that he didn't appreciate it very much.

"Very well, that is all. You may leave Naomi; I wish to speak with Mr. Kan in private if you will."

Naomi looked uncertainly between her father and Keori, who leaned tiredly against the doorframe. Her eyes took note of the beads of sweat on Keori's brow and the almost strained expression on his face as if he were masking his pain, which indeed he was as far as she knew. Naomi had noticed the few instances where the facade had slipped on their journey here and knew then that what Orland had told her was true. Keori was suffering over the man he'd killed and even now he kept the pain of his injury to himself in order that her father might heap his frustrations upon Keori. What Keori did was for the kingdom with no consideration or regard for his own well being. '_He's such an idiot_.' Naomi thought exasperatedly.

"As you will father." Naomi murmured and made her way to the door. Before she stepped out though she laid a gentle hand on Keori's arm. "As soon as you're finished have someone bring you to Queen Millerna; I believe you've ripped some of your stitches with too much activity." Naomi ordered loud enough for her father and Orland to hear. Keori looked confused for a moment before Naomi pointedly glanced to his bandaged torso and led his gaze to the bloody patch seeping through the cloth.

"I'll be sure to." Keori mumbled as he stepped further into the room and Naomi exited.

Keori made sure to mask his expression until it was impassive as he firmly closed the door behind Naomi. After first straightening his posture, Keori turned around and approached his father and Orland feeling quite naked without his sword chinking merrily beside him. Van stood on a short dais of sorts that made him a few inches taller then Orland, who was positioned a few feet away. Keori suspected that this room might have been the throne room of the old castle, even though it appeared slightly small for such a purpose.

Most of the furniture in the room was covered with dusty cloths and the few tapestries and paintings on the walls were in fairly deplorable condition. Tattered shreds of paint and canvass hung beside half-charred depictions, of what, only God could divine, on moth eaten rugs. The small number of furnishings, not hidden away by colorless fabric, was scorched or warped spectacularly. Keori marveled in the sudden realization that all these articles were survivors of the destructive fire, objects of the original citadel.

There, in the corner, was an intricately carved chair standing on three legs. The black hue on the remaining three legs was the telltale symbol of the missing component's demise. A large swash of black on the seat showed where the inferno had greedily consumed the cushion first. Eyes traveling further up, Keori spotted color in the bubbly surface of stain and gloss, a light golden brown. The type of wood used was indistinguishable as the fire had made the bottom half bare of grain markings and the top half was disfigured by the reaction of the varnish melting in the fire. Keori's eyes took in this lamentable piece of carved wood that once would have been considered sturdy but now looked like it could collapse if you breathed on it. Bewildered by the miserable condition of the room Keori simply stared all around at the poor, useless objects. '_Why does he keep all of this? This has got to be the most depressing room I've ever been in_.' Keori mused absently.

"If you've finished scrutinizing the picturesque accommodations I'd like to know if you did it." Van sneered sarcastically. Orland fumed and looked ready to start another shouting match but Van held up a forestalling hand. "He can speak for himself, can't he?" Van didn't take his eyes off of Keori as he asked the question and Keori could see the simmering anger in his father's eyes toward the one who would defend the teenager, Van's son. '_Oh the irony_.' Keori thought as he turned the situation around in his mind while giving Van an innocently puzzled expression. Once again, after his embarrassing encounter with Naomi, Keori found himself desiring some clothing. '_I wonder if he had it in mind to interrogate me in the hospital while I was half naked._ (_**mental snort**_)_ I wouldn't put it past him. Although, to be honest, at least there I had a blanket to cover up with._' Keori thought resentfully.

"How can I say if I did something if I don't know exactly what you are accusing me of?" Keori's tone was polite and lacked any nuance that could be interpreted as offensive.

"You know damn well what the hell I'm talking about! You were listening outside the goddamn door!" Van roared wrathfully like a slighted lion.

'_All he wants is a confession. He doesn't care about the extenuating circumstances. God, he really does hate me! Maybe I am just a murderer, I mean, don't the good guys get a chance to defend themselves?_' As the self-depreciating thoughts wracked Keori's mind he slowly turned off his true emotions, becoming detached almost. '_I am alone. I am encased in ice, unfeeling and emotionless. I am inhuman. My blood runs like the arctic rivers, like frigid fire so cold it burns. There is no warmth, no cozy fires, and no life. I am nothing and no one. I am the chilled air, the frosty snow and the glazed ice. No one can touch me. I am alone..._' Keori's expression turned cold, hard, and dark. His eyebrows drew together like a storm cloud above his glacial gaze and his firm lips pressed into a white line. The lengthy blades of velvety bangs plastered themselves against Keori's clammy forehead and lent a demonic perspective to the mysterious boy. Unconsciously his body braced itself against the shivering his thoughts triggered.

"Yes."

The one word, hissed through clenched teeth with a brusque nod accompanying it, brought out two varying reactions. Van's sneer twisted even more grotesquely and the bloodthirsty fire in his eyes shone more brightly. He was not surprised that the boy had murdered in cold blood. There he was admitting it like it was inconsequential without regret or remorse. In Van's eyes Keori's actions had been abominable and capricious without any evidence or provocation. Then for Keori to cowardly stab himself to escape punishment was the highest moral outrage. All this could be seen within the molten tempered depths of Van's gaze as it bored into Keori's form. Orland, on the other hand, drew in a quick breath which gave off a weird noise as it was drawn in through clenched teeth. The initial reaction of disbelief gave way almost immediately to righteous anger and stubborn insistence.

"Why..." Orland started to question gruffly as he grabbed hold of Keori's shoulders reassuringly.

"He admitted to stabbing himself! There is nothing more he can say to change that Orland! Get it through your thick skull that he isn't **you**!" Van interrupted lividly. Orland, who had ignored Van, managed to finally meet Keori's eyes but what he saw made him release his hold and step away.

"How can you say that? Look at him...his eyes. Ask him how it happened. If you do that then I will agree to any punishment you deem necessary should it even be death." Orland spoke softly, though his voice remained strong and firm. Van looked relieved that Orland had proposed such a fitting solution to arguing and nodded sharply in agreement.

"Fine. How did you stab yourself Mr. Kan?" Van clasped his hands behind his back in expectation as he regarded the stiff boy. He even did as Orland ordered and looked in the boy's eyes as the boy began talking. What he heard and saw though was not anything he had expected.

"I had attacked Lucius and was holding him in place. I ordered him to confess his sins and demanded to know who his accomplices were. He refused and I stabbed him with my dagger which turned out to be slightly longer then I anticipated. The knife went through him and into me, I stabbed myself." Keori narrated in an empty tone without any indication that he felt anything while he did so. However, Van had been watching the boy's eyes and felt something twist painfully in his chest as the pools of green fluctuated erratically. One second they would be void of any emotion and the next they would be filled with pain, intense grief, and a multitude of other emotions Van was afraid to decipher. As the words reached his ears and comprehension slowly dawned Van felt sick with self-reproach. The boy had been innocent after all, though how he knew Lucius was a traitor remained an ambiguity. Who was this boy, and what the hell happened to make him so emotionally unstable?

"Dear God." Van murmured faintly. This whisper seemed to snap Keori out of his trance and the boy regarded Van with pain filled eyes.

"God had nothing to do with it! I **murdered** that man in cold blood even if he was a defector!" Keori managed to choke out before he turned and ran to the entry. Van and Orland watched as Keori fumbled with the door and raced out of the room.

Keori didn't get very far; in fact, he only managed to reach the hallway where he and Naomi had first heard the shouting. There Keori collapsed in a panting heap clutching his side as it burned with pain. '_You are beyond stupid! Losing your cool like that and actually going into a trance! What kind of bullshit is that?_" Keori fumed at himself as his starving lungs puffed in and out. He couldn't even recall what he'd told Van and Orland; the last thing he remembered was Van's demands for him to confess. Keori grimaced as fear clutched at him. What had he told them? What did they think? Keori knew never to go into a trance around people because it virtually shut down everything, emotions, coherent thoughts, and even consciousness in a way. He could still hold a conversation but it was as if he wasn't completely there.

As a child the trance was a place to go when his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Keori recalled his mother's hypothesis that the trance was actually the ability to bring out his subconscious mind. Keori never remembered what he said or did when he went into the trance but his mother often made claims of having whole conversations with him. Either way, when he'd been younger and having problems he'd go into the trance, talk with mother, and wake up feeling immensely better about the situation he was at the time embroiled in. There were never any distinct memories, just feelings. Keori latched onto that thought, closed his eyes, and thought about Van's accusations. Surprisingly he didn't feel fear or anger anymore, only regret and perhaps a little uneasiness, or better worded, uncertainty. '_I guess I'll have to see what father decides to do with me. I just wish he would find it in him to like me..._'

* * *

DEDICATED to SMILE a.k.a. Anonymous for the sweet encouragement to keep going. ^.^ thanx a bunch

**Chapter 19: Seedy Bar and Beers**

Shhk...shhk...shhk...The softly rhythmic sounds of the whet-stone against the edge of the blade oddly soothed the brooding boy. Keori sat in a small alcove near the hayloft window surrounded by large bales of coarse, dry hay. He sat on the sill, leaning against the wooden support with one leg drawn and the other dangling a foot from the loft flooring. He held his sword left handed as his right instinctively worked the sliver of metal into a fine point with the ease of long practice. Meanwhile, his wayward gaze traveled over the view provided through the unshielded window. Silky rolls of green carpeting grasslands spread for a short distance all around the serviceable barn Keori was currently residing in. The fields were used as grazing land for the livestock kept close to the inner walls. What looked like a Belgian mare stood directly beneath the window, close enough that Keori could smell the pungent scent of leather, tack oil, and the unique, musky aroma inherent in horses. The accompanying odors of dust, musty wood, and stored hay were generously endowed by the barn.

Keori could hear the somewhat muffled chomping of the horses' jaw around succulent feed which added to the gentle ambience of early morning. The few birds that chirruped in the trees were distant enough not to be shrill; and the muted sounds of the townspeople waking and going about their business were comforting in their own way. Said town was sprawled out only a few yards from where Keori looked on. Small thatched roof housing stood squatly along the fringes of the unfenced pasture. Townsfolk with morning chores moved about unhurriedly in the dusky rays of dawn light. A group of men—probably the ones who also let the horses out to graze in the morning—worked on constructing another building. The skeletal outlines of the structure pierced the subdued morning sky like a spire of abstract art. Keori was far enough away that the only sounds heard from the edifice were the occasional hollers of the men and the faint tattering of hammers.

"You know, you really shouldn't be up and about yet. It's only been two days since your collapse in that corridor!" a voice called loudly up to Keori, making him jump and drop his whet-stone. The scraping sound of the dark object echoed deafeningly as it tumbled along the hard grooved wood. A moment of silence followed as the item became airborne before a sharp CRACK rent the air, signaling the stone striking the hardwood floor to halt permanently. Keori shuffled over to the edge of the loft, with much rustling of hay, in order to peer over the side and identify the intruder. Naomi stood with her hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side as she craned her neck to gaze at him. Keori didn't say anything and wondered vaguely what the princess was doing up at this hour.

"Mind if I join you?" Keori shrugged and shambled back to his original position, sheathing and setting his sword aside.

"What are you doing up here...anyway?" Naomi questioned, huffing out a breath as she reached the top of the ladder. She flopped unceremoniously beside Keori and he was kept from answering right away as Naomi quickly pounced up again and scowled at the hay bale she'd moments before collapsed on. Keori realized immediately what happened as Naomi vigorously swiped at the back of her voluptuous skirts. Hay wasn't the best of materials to throw ones self upon.

"Well?" Naomi prompted impatiently as she carefully reclaimed her seat and began working stray straws out of her hair. Her nose wrinkled prettily in concentration and twitched slightly from all the dust she'd stirred.

"I just wanted somewhere quiet...to think." Keori shrugged again and turned his attention to a frisky colt frolicking on spindly legs around the more sedate mare from earlier. '_I needed somewhere to go to avoid everyone. I don't really want to talk to anyone either. Why are you here Naomi?_' Keori inquired mentally as he turned his attention back to Naomi. Some of his curiosity must have shown in his expression because Naomi promptly provided an answer.

"King Dryden and Queen Millerna are looking for you. Her Majesty wishes to affirm your well being before they leave. Lord Dryden wishes to say his farewells, I'm assuming." Naomi spoke politely as she pleated and then smoothed out her voluminous skirts. While she spoke Naomi allowed her eyes to travel around the loft, taking in the mounds of yellowish-orange straw and the weather worn wood. Along the far wall hung various tools used in the care of horses including picks, brushes, and assorted whatnots. There weren't any stalls located in the barn as it was meant for storage, but there was a fireplace for heating during the winter should the animals need to be sheltered within.

"Leaving?" Keori furrowed his brow and gave Naomi a bewildered look as his right hand fiddled unconsciously with the hilt of his sword. He traced the etching of the Fanelian crest as he awaited Naomi's explanation. The princess seemed to break out of her scrutiny of the barn to stare at him avidly. Keori still looked rather pale but the fresh air and sunlight could only be beneficial to his health. He wore some loose fitting trousers and a sleeveless, shapeless shirt. Naomi thought he looked rather tired with his hair mussed from the gentle breeze and his heavy lidded eyes regarding her disorientated.

"They have been here for close to three weeks, longer than the usual allotted time. If they stay any longer there will be suspicion and unrest in Asturia. Sir Allen and his crew will stay as liaisons between our governments in case anything happens. Marilyn will stay here as usual; and I suppose you will also be staying?" Naomi presumed with a cursory glance to his sword and the fresh memory of his sacrifice playing in her mind.

"If your father still wants me, that is. What I am more concerned with is King Dryden and Asturia's protection. What about the attack; there could be spies for all we know." Keori spoke tentatively as he was unsure how much Naomi knew or how much he should reveal to her of what he'd spoken to the kings about. He gave an involuntary yawn and ran a hand over his face in a rare show of his drowsiness.

"Oh, Master Orland has been conferring with Allen and King Dryden to set up a better defense system based on the ones he made for Fanelia. Not to worry." Naomi assured him dismissively.

"Hmm..." Keori hummed noncommittally. '_But__, if there are spies already within the castle and framework, the defenses will be useless. Then again, they can't stay here either. Who ever is out there wants to take over the kingdom, according to my visions, and having two royal families in one place practically begs royalty here—complete with neon arrows—please attack us!_' Keori shook his head self-depreciatively. '_My humor is getting darker each day_.'

"Keori, were you even listening? Are you coming or not?" Naomi stood glaring at the thoughtful boy with her hands on her hips. Keori realized she must have been speaking but hadn't heard her or even noticed her getting up. With another yawn he stood and stretched his arms over his head.

"You know, you were a lot more polite in Asturia...Come to think of it, you're more polite in the company of others. Is it just me then?" Keori gave Naomi an assessing look that contained the same perceptive glint Orland often displayed.

"It's just you." Naomi confirmed haughtily from where she stood on the first step, still facing him, but Keori caught sight of the amused twitch to her lips.

"Well, in that case, I'll be sure to avoid you at all costs." Keori replied flippantly as he followed her down the ladder after reclaiming his sword. Naomi made an indignant noise that was most unladylike and glared at Keori. Keori smiled to himself privately and ignored the princess just to aggravate her. When they reached the bottom of the ladder Keori retrieved the wayward whet-stone. Tucking the utensil into his pocket, he followed Naomi into the brightening sunlight, resigned to a long day.

~*~*~

Keori waved as exuberantly as the rest of the entourage assembled to give farewell to the Asturian royalty. He had suffered through Queen Millerna's motherly poking and prodding with an air of maturity he was hard-pressed to keep. The desire to brush her concern aside with reassurance that he felt fine was almost overpowering. Though, somehow, Keori had the impression that if he did so the Queen would have insisted on a full checkup rather then a cursory glance and quick pressure test. '_After all_,' his mind had reminded him succinctly, '_you were still insisting that you were perfectly fine while bleeding in Master Orland's arms_.' Consequently, Keori had deemed it in his best interest to go along with the nurturing mother hen. Keori was only thankful that King Dryden was less troubled with his well being. Dryden preferred, instead, to threaten him with amputation of various important parts of his anatomy should anything happen to his darling daughter. Therefore, it was with a lighter heart that Keori bid adieu to the two monarchs. Though, Keori couldn't be faulted for the fleeting looks he sent toward Marilyn in order to confirm her continued safety.

"I do believe you have just been appointed Marilyn's official guard." said an amused voice to Keori's right. Keori tossed a sardonic look over his shoulder and groaned slightly. Allen's soft chuckle was quick to come as he sidled closer to Keori in order to speak more privately. "As much as you feel honored with such a task, I'm sure you would feel more inclined without the weight of judgment still resting on your shoulders." Allen alluded in a tone belying his severity. Keori's eyes narrowed with the significance of Allen's words, but he otherwise remained stoically silent. When Allen only continued to gauge Keori's stance and expression Keori could not help the low rumble in his throat that suspiciously resembled a growl.

"Well?" Keori encouraged ungraciously. Allen gave him a knowledgeable look and then straightened formally.

"Keori Kan, you are hereby acquitted from the charge of murder by order of His Majesty, Lord Van Slanzar de Fanel. Lucius Vertas is hereby recognized as a traitor to the throne, his crimes are as followed but not confined to: high treason, murder, attempted sabotage, and subversive acts against his oath as a guard of Fanelia and his King. Keori Kan is furthermore reasserted as the apprentice of Weapons Master Derek Orland and any other duties of which he'd been stripped of upon his susceptibility." Allen's voice was strong and stiffly formal but it did not carry to those people going about their business. Keori did not deny himself the relieved sigh that escaped his lips at hearing his verdict. He did feel a pang of guilt for the reaction though, as if the verdict lacked justification for the crime he'd committed. '_Would you really prefer to die for murdering that man?_" Keori's mind scoffed at him. '_No, but I shouldn't feel as though everything is alright now. I still have the blood of his death on my hands and my hands alone_.' a small voice in the corner of his mind supplied meekly.

"That's it then, is it?"

"Yes, now you are free to continue training and doing whatever it is that you do with Master Orland." Allen agreed in his usual polite tone. The rigid man held his hands behind his back and turned briskly to leave.

"About Master Orland..." Keori muttered hurriedly before the taller man could quit his presence entirely. Allen turned and arched an aristocratic eyebrow in question. "Before I...spoke with His Majesty and Master Orland I...overheard something pertaining to my Master." Keori began tensely in a hesitant way. Allen looked affronted as though he was about to tell him not to go on and lecture him about eavesdropping. He was not disappointed when Allen raised his chin more regally then even some royalty could manage and began speaking in a condescending tone.

"I seriously thought better of you Keori then to listen in on matters not addressed to you. I will not tolerate gossip and ask that you do not continue what..." Allen began in clipped tones with a measuring look of disappointment.

"No, no, it's nothing like that! The King just said something about having spared Master Orland's life and I was wondering if you knew anything about that!" Keori rushed to say before Allen could either walk away or override him. Allen opened his mouth to say something scathing, most likely about the interruption, but thought better of it and scrutinized Keori briefly before uttering.

"Not here, follow me."

~*~*~

Keori dubiously followed Allen's lead into a seedy looking bar in a less then respectable part of town. However, upon his entrance, it did not take Keori long to realize the motive behind the choice. The place closely resembled a dungeon which could have been attributed to the nonexistent windows and paucity of candles distributed about the room. What little light shone from those thin wicks was smothered by the choking cloud of smoke coalescing along the ceiling. The few unidentifiable patrons, shadowy outlines visible through the heavy gloom, were either slumped in what could only be a drunken daze, or hunched over their respective poisons...er alcoholic beverages. There was only one table, near the back, that boasted lucid, or at least conscious, people. The raucous laughter boomed at indeterminate intervals as the two threaded their way to the bar.

'_In a place like this no one will recognize us and there's privacy. We won't be overheard._' Keori observed shrewdly. Allen ignored the passed out men, lying about, in favor of claiming a seat at the darkest corner of the bar. Keori followed suit and carefully picked his way among the lounging bodies and unidentifiable substances that gave off less then savory odors. Like a typical sordid bar the air smelled of sweat, booze, smoke, vomit, and rotten vegetation. Keori breathed shallowly and through his mouth in an effort to escape the nauseating stench. The stagnant odor reminded Keori far too much of the drunken foster father who had though Keori made a mighty fine punching bag.

"I take it this tale has some seriously disturbing aspects to it." Keori murmured lowly into Allen's ear as he perched himself on the leather covered stool beside Allen's. He grimaced as he felt something wet seep into his beautifully tanned breeches and hoped it wouldn't stain even as his imagination supplied a variety of substances the mysterious moisture could be. It was when his face screwed up in complete disgust that the bartender happened by.

"What'll it be chaps?" a gruff voice asked. Keori glanced up to see a ruggedly bearded man clad in a grungy apron full of stains wiping a newly rinsed glass with a tattered, stained towel. When the glass was dry, the man lifted it to a candle flame and eyed it severely. Keori could clearly see streaks in the glass and the remaining dregs of beer permanently staining the bottom as well as a reddish-brown smudge on the outside. The bartender lowered the glass, and having caught sight of the brown smudge, spit on it. Then he proceeded to scrub furiously with the filthy rag while all the time eyeing his new customers. Keori wondered vaguely if anyone had ever died in the bar from bacteria poisoning.

"Two beers." Allen muttered in an undistinguishable voice laden with barely restrained revulsion. Keori studiously kept quiet as the bartender ducked under the counter and brought out two dust covered bottles of sloshing liquid. The man didn't even bother with a bottle opener as he simply twisted the caps off the drinks with his sticky ham-sized hands. Before setting the beers in front of them though, the bartender officiously raked the selfsame rag he'd used to dry the cup across the counter top sending small bread crumbs and spilt alcohol to the already filthy floor.

"Will that be all? We do 'ave stew tonight with bread." the bartender offered with a greedy glint in his eyes. Keori eyed his beer distastefully and debated whether the oaf would take offense if he didn't drink it. He'd never liked beer to begin with, the amber liquid bitter tasting and foul smelling to his senses.

"Yes, and no." Allen said tersely with a curt nod as he handed over a few clinking coins. The barkeeper swiftly stashed the money into the pouch under his apron. Meanwhile, the Caeli Knight deftly swabbed the mouth of his bottle on his sleeve before raising it to his lips and drinking deeply. Keori forced himself not to shudder, and when the bartender's back was turned to them as he serviced another customer, Keori used the edge of his shirt to thoroughly cleanse the lip of his own bottle. For a brief while the two sat in companionable silence nursing their beers and attempting to keep from touching any part of the bar. Keori gave thanks to any gods listening that he didn't have to drink from one of the mugs.

The night wore on in silence and the activity in the bar picked up as the group in the back grew louder and larger. Howls of laughter and raised voices consumed all sounds of shuffling or whispered voices. Soon the barkeeper was too busy with newcomers to pay the two strangers in the dark corner any mind. It was then, while sipping at his second stalling beer, that Allen decided to speak. Keori recognized how Allen had been waiting for the bartender's attention to wane on them before starting. He too had noticed the bedraggled man's eyes flicking to them every few minutes since they first ordered.

"Derek Orland used to be a mercenary." Allen announced in an undertone, leaning close to Keori in a confidential manner. Keori allowed an eyebrow to rise in silent question before he voiced one instead.

"What does that matter?"

"Orland's assignment was to kill Van Fanel." Allen explained concisely as he watched Keori for his reaction. Keori did not show any outward sign that this news had any effect on him. '_Orland, kill Father! Damn, that's some turn around! I know Orland would protect father with his life!_' Keori thought inwardly. Keori searched Allen's own stoic face for a moment before voicing his opinion. Allen looked deep in thought, or perhaps memory. Keori could discern truth to his words but there had to be more to it then that.

"That's some change of heart." Keori revealed some of his skepticism in his tone. Allen sipped his beer with a decidedly less then grateful facade. Keori could relate, his second beer was still full and his first hadn't gone down too well. The amber liquid swilled nauseatingly within the pit of his stomach; the fact he hadn't eaten anything all day didn't help matters much either.

"After the war, the Zaibach Empire was in ruins. The military was devastated but that was nothing compared to its people. As far as I know, Orland's parents were simple farmers who had to scrimp and save for anything good in life. In a land with such infertile soil the harshness of living was only relieved by the generosity of their government. After the war the government, based on its military standing, was in shambles. The farmers were left to fend for themselves." Allen broke off his quiet tale as a particularly jubilant uproar filled the grey fogged air. Both his and Keori's eyes traveled to the now brighter part of the pub; the barkeeper had added more candles per his clientele's request. The rowdy group of men argued loudly over a round table where several of their comrades played cards. Flagons of guineas, mugs of beer, shots of whiskey, and cocktails for the really strange ones floated about the sea of bodies. They were all bonded in the moment of reckless abandon, free to be men without responsibility or a care in the world besides his own satisfaction.

"Go on." Keori bid Allen as he grudgingly took a sip of his astringent beer to wet his parched throat. Allen continued to watch the men for a moment longer, probably recalling his men doing such a thing at one time or other, before he turned back to Keori.

"Anyway, that wasn't the only problem. Seems, several people took Zaibach's tyranny far more personally then others. From what I gather, they raided the Zaibach country side burning all the houses and killing anyone who stepped in their path man, woman, or child. Orland, I believe, was fifteen at the time, if what he claims is his age today is any indication. I'm not sure of the particulars, but Orland's parents were killed in the plundering of the village. Orland escaped to join a mercenary group out for revenge.

"The group was mostly forged by soldiers who survived the war. He learned swordsmanship and how to operate a guymelef among them, as far as I know. When he became one of the most adept assassins he was given the job of murdering Lord Van, one of the most sought after heroes of the war. They blamed Lord Van for Zaibach's downfall, mostly because he piloted the dreaded 'white dragon' Escaflowne." Allen paused again as the door to the bar opened and a few more men noisily made their way to the bar. They took up the abandoned mugs, left by the previous customers, and slammed them on the counter for attention. Allen eyed them warily until they were all served and began wandering over to the larger party of drinkers. Keori heard him sniff contemptuously and recognized the loathing Allen found for his fellow man's vices. Keori himself despised the effects of alcohol and tried to abstain when at all possible, which had never really been a problem on earth as he'd been underage but here seemed like a daily choice. Keori also waited until the jovial men were farther away before speaking.

"So, Orland goes after his Majesty and somehow gets caught. How does that equal into a pardon and life sacrificing comrades?" Keori inquired in a hiss of impatience. Allen gave him something akin to an annoyed look as if he was trying not to condescend to such childish emotions as irritation.

"The first time Orland attempted to assassinate Lord Van he was spotted by two guards. After disposing the two his cover was already blown, so he was forced to retreat. He stuck around the inner city under the guise of a traveling Jack-of-all-trades looking for work. When the guards had been found dead the alarms were raised and security was stepped up. There was nothing left for Orland to do but hang around and bide his time until another opportunity presented itself." Allen shrugged and finished off his beer, tilting the bottle straight up and swallowing the rest. Keori wordlessly offered the taller man his own barely touched beverage. Allen made a dismissive gesture with his hand and became quiet as he organized his thoughts.

"Do you know why mercenaries tend to kill their mark quickly and without preamble?" Allen asked pensively. Keori wanted to glare at the man, thinking he'd changed the subject and decided not to tell him after all, but shrugged instead. "Because usually, in the case of mercenaries or assassins, the mark is someone they know nothing about. They kill quickly so that they do not give themselves time to think about what they are doing. They don't stake out the place because they don't want to find evidence that the murder is unjustified." Allen explained slowly. Keori felt his eyes widen almost imperceptibly but knew that Allen had caught the reaction of comprehension.

"That's right. After spending two weeks in Fanelia Orland was exposed to, not only Lord Van's kindness and generosity to his people, but also his sense of justice and fairness. Of course, that alone wasn't enough to dissuade him from his goal of revenge. The real deciding factor was the revelation that Zaibach had done to Fanelia what other countries had done to Zaibach. Not only that, but Orland learned that Lord Van and his people had nothing to do with the burning of Zaibach, being too busy rebuilding Fanelia at the time. In fact, Van accepted any Zaibach refugees who wanted to live in Fanelia as long as they swore their allegiance to Fanelia, as any government would have them do. After these revelations Orland decided against killing the King." Allen expounded seriously, all the while keeping watch of the other patrons in the sleazy establishment.

"Why do I get the feeling there's a 'but' in that statement?" Keori asked suspiciously as he too kept his eyes peeled for eavesdroppers. Keori was pretty sure that only close friends of his father knew the tale and that Orland could be in danger should this information get out to the wrong sort of people. Fervently loyal citizens was one danger, but more importantly was the danger of Orland's treachery getting back to the mercenaries he'd worked with. Keori knew in groups like that if the mark wasn't taken out then the 'merc' was considered a traitor, unless, of course, he died valiantly while trying to carry out his mission.

"You're right. There is a 'but'. Orland had failed to report in, they, meaning the mercenaries, thought him dead. The group decided to send in a replacement. Orland caught wind of the plan and prevented the assassination from occurring. Van didn't give us any of the details, Lord Dryden and I, but he said he trusted Orland with his life from then on. It was only after several years of Orland's services that I got this much information from Lord Van and King Dryden. I, myself, do not have direct contact with Orland outside of my duties; and I know very little of his character besides what I see in our plotting sessions. If you wish to know what happened that day, I suggest you ask Lord Van or Orland himself. I would point out, though, that you and Van seem to have grown and enmity and your meddling might only infuriate him further." With this said, Allen stood stiffly from the position he'd been folded in for well over three hours and bid Keori a cordial goodnight before walking out into the torch lit night. Keori watched him leave until the thudding door blocked any possible view he could have had of the retreating figure. Keori turned his piercing gaze to the grimy bar top and examined the various spots of congealing alcohol and stew gravy. The boisterous crowd in the back dwindled to nothing but a buzz in his ears as his eyes unfocused and stared blindly at the counter.

* * *

His breath came in long, shallow pulls that went virtually undetected in the undulating darkness of night. The grey clouds unfurling in the sky afforded him scant cover as they often spread thin enough to admit the light of the full moons through their condensed particles. '_I __**must**__ remain __**unseen**__!_' his mind ranted in a silent mantra. The cold of darkness pressed in on him, further aided by the nipping wind. He pressed himself more firmly against the stone wall and crept closer still to the balcony.

Suddenly, two loud voices could be heard laughing and conversing as they passed by the narrow archway. He started in surprise and felt his footing on the ledge waver dangerously before he managed to gain his balance once again. With his heart thumping viciously against his ribcage he mentally cursed his stupidity. His nerves were so tightly wound he would be the death of himself. The two voices which had been growing fainter all the while he'd been recovering himself became nonexistent. He edged ever closer to the gracefully curved balustrade until he could get a clear view of the hall within. It was clear; he mentally snorted at the ineptitude of the inner guards. Clearly he wouldn't have a repeat of last time where the guards had actually done their job and spotted him, a pity they died for it. '_I'll_ _be sure to repay their families for their loss_.' he promised himself in all seriousness. '_But for now, focus. You __**must**__ not be __**seen**__!_' he ordered himself sharply. He'd always been told he was a harsher taskmaster on himself than anyone else was on him. By this time, through all his thoughts, he'd managed to glide lithely over the railing and crouch in the dark recesses of the upper floor terrace. From there he silently crept, with the agility of a cat, into the castle.

He knew where the room was, he'd cased the place enough to be sure of it. Sticking to the, then, unadorned walls and shadowy niches provided by the recessed doorways he progressed to the King's chambers. Once he reached the doorway, undiscovered, he dexterously slipped through the smallest crack between door and frame his bulky size would allow. The chambers were dark within save the occasional shaft of moonlight that slipped through the windows. These windows were the focus of his attention as he knew they were the prime choice of entrance for an assassin. The only problem was the ledge did not reach to the windows, an obvious and ingenious precaution on the part of the architect. He himself had been caught trying to get in by using a climbing rope, but he suspected his ex-associate would try a different approach.

The next best method was to come in through the top. As if on cue there was a loud crash as the glass pane in the second to far right window smashed inward. There was a scream from the bed and a roar of anger as the occupants were roused. However, before the assassin could go in for the kill he had his sword drawn and knocked the offending blade away. The assassin, being taken completely by surprise lost his grip on the hilt of his own sword when it came into contact with another. The blade went soaring upward and out before dropping to the floor a number of feet away. A moment of absolute stillness passed as the room was illuminated with soft blue rays of celestial light. The blood-tainted, fallen blade glinted rose in the pervading light and the faces of the two men were clearly discernable.

"Everyone thinks your dead!" the intended assassin gasped as he caught sight of his compatriot's face. The opposite man took a menacing step forward, his eyes hard as blood leaked profusely from a deep cut running from his right temple to below his cheekbone. The parried sword had cut him as he'd knocked it away from the assassin. He, Orland, smiled cruelly and in a swift move, long practiced, he jammed the blade upwards under the man's ribcage until it pierced his heart.

"Good." he grunted. He heard screaming, but it was as if the world was fading around him and the sound was dimly distant.

* * *

Keori was brought to awareness quite suddenly and found himself staring into a pair of beady onyx eyes. The face was so close to his and the breath wafting to his nostrils reeked of so much booze that Keori jerked away so forcefully he was sent careening to the floor. A loud shattering filled his ears and Keori felt the broken glass pierce his back as he landed in the filth of the barroom floor. It took a total of three seconds for him to recall where he was, what he'd been doing, and what he'd just seen before the pain of the injury kicked in. The bartender, whose face had been invading his personal space, was quickly making his way over to help him up.

"Now wot was all tha' about? You ok there sonny?" the barkeeper inquired as he reached down to pull Keori up. Keori caught sight of the man's eyes and distrustfully swatted his proffered hand aside as he gained his footing through his own steam.

"I'm fine." Keori muttered and quickly took his leave of the bar. He winced slightly as the shards of glass imbedded in his back protested the movement required for walking. Keori quickly traversed the winding alleys of Fanelia all the while engrossed in the new information he'd been provided with about Orland. Later he'd come to realize how much of a miracle it'd been for him to reach the castle without being attacked or robbed. Perhaps the blood leaking from his shirt had staved off the lower elements always present in any town of reputable size.

* * *

**Chapter 20: Arranged Marriage**

"Shit Keori, what the hell happened?" Teo inquired forcefully. Keori could just imagine the grimace on Teo's face as the older man efficiently pried pieces of glass from his back. Keori inhaled sharply as a particularly painful wrench released a rather large sliver from under his flesh. The newly broken skin began to bleed sluggishly, flowing into an established pathway. Soon enough the red rivulet soaked into the waistband of his breeches. Keori had to bite back a scathing reply and ground his teeth instead. "Sorry, the damn thing wouldn't budge." Teo murmured before repeating his question.

Keori heard the glacial chink of glass striking glass and allowed his eyes to slide over to the bowl beside him. The shallow earthenware bowl was filled with bloodied brown glass pieces the muted color of mahogany. In a macabre sense they resembled shards of a stained glass window the like one would find in a church. Keori was drawn from his musings when Teo cleared his throat and purposely jerked some glass from his back.

"Fuck Teo, be gentle!" Keori snarled viciously as he flinched. The violent extrication left Keori's back throbbing in time with his pulsating heart.

"Answer my damn question."

"I fell down in a bar and got smashed, geez! I bet if I'd gone to Orland he'd have some compassion!" Keori griped as he kicked his, literally, shredded shirt away from himself. '_Crap, another outfit ruined! Soon I won't have any clothes to speak of!_' Teo snorted.

"At this hour of darkness? Not on your life! Orland would as soon slit your throat with the very glass he'd pull from your back!" Toe exclaimed. Keori's answering huff turned into a gasp; and he began to darkly contemplate smashing a solid glass bottle over Teo's head.

"Hold still Keori. Shit, you flinch and whine more over these flesh wounds then you did over that gaping hole in your side!" Teo cried exasperatedly. Keori winced as Teo began to swab his back with a moist towel. The frosty water did not do much in the way of numbing the injured area, rather it stung and burned upon application.

"If you want, I could drop you onto a bottle and see how you like the pieces being yanked from your back." Keori threatened menacingly. Teo's rejoining laughter only aggravated Keori further. Keori scowled and narrowed his eyes despite the fact Teo could not see his expression.

"I imagine I wouldn't appreciate the gesture." Teo chuckled again and lifted a bowl of strong smelling paste. "I guess I'd be asking too much if I wanted an explanation regarding as to why you'd been in a bar?" Keori wrinkled his nose as a pungent scent assaulted his nostrils.

"Naa...Aah!" Keori's intended reply was cut off when his breath hitched. Teo's cool, pasty hands had come into contact with Keori's mutilated flesh. The gel-like substance was spread and gently massaged into the various cuts and bruises. "What is that?"

"It's an ointment that prevents infection and helps reduce swelling; feels good, no?" Keori could only nod; he almost felt wistful when Teo finished and began to wind a large strip of cloth around his midsection. "You're avoiding the question." Teo reminded him thoughtfully.

"Not a chance. I'm not telling you why I was in a bar." Keori muttered as he'd intended to the first time he'd been asked.

"Suit yourself; I'm going back to bed." With that parting remark, Teo tied off the wrap and stood.

Keori's gaze followed the dark-skinned man as he lumbered over to the wash basin on the dresser. The lithe, well-muscled frame that was usually more refined in posture was hunched over the bowl from fatigue. Keori blearily noted how the man was all angles. Long, well-defined legs carried into an equally elongated torso with washboard abs and admirable pectorals. Extensive arms, seemingly stretched beyond the necessary length, ended with identical long-fingered hands that tapered down to fine tips. Those capable hands were currently rubbing away the last vestiges of Keori's blood and the ointment used to insure sanitation.

As Teo turned to dry his hands on a nearby towel Keori was able to note the planes of his face. The man's head was triangular, starting rounded on top and lessening toward a strong pointed chin. High cheekbones were emphasized by exceedingly arched eyebrows of rich dark hair. The elongated nose that turned up slightly at the end and the very wide, thin-lipped mouth suited Teo's features unequivocally. When Teo turned to regard Keori silently, the boy noted Teo's dark sloe-eyes had been reduced to tiny, narrowed slits from drowsiness.

"Aren't you going to help me clean up?" Keori motioned to the tattered clothing, the bloody glass-filled bowl, the surplus ointment, the soiled towel, and the extra bandages.

"You got a few scrapes, not a broken arm." Teo observed bluntly. The Crusade mechanic rubbed a hand over his short cropped hair, which was still prone to sleep induced tufts, and turned away from Keori. Keori glowered at the man's back as Teo slumped on the lower bunk. With a grunt, Teo pulled a blanket over his supine form and almost immediately began to snore softly. The wronged boy took one last stand to express his displeasure by making a rude gesture toward his peacefully slumbering comrade. Teo's only reaction was to snort and shift to a more comfortable position.

~*~*~

"Few scrapes ... feh! ... Damn mess ... Jerk! ... Can't ... bother'n help ... asshole..." Keori's mumbling was punctuated by ear popping, jaw cracking yawns. If his glares were knives, Teo would've gone through a full itinerary of maiming and dismemberment for every time Keori was forced to bend over. As it was, Keori could barely keep awake long enough to finish his task.

The dastardly damaged clothing and dully glinting glass were deposited in the waste basket to be carried out by the maids in the morning. Keori retrieved the excess bandages and pasty ointment from the floor only to place them on the side table for lack of anywhere else. He wasn't quite certain where Teo had gotten the supplies within the castle. The very thought of Teo hiking all the way to the hospital ward where Keori had stayed shortly, or even to the weapons practice field, where guards kept medical provisions on hand, made Keori feel a twinge of gratitude and remorse for troubling his friend. The guilt and appreciation evaporated almost instantly the moment Keori's eyes fell upon the wash basin. Teo had effectively turned the water a diluted pinkish-brown by washing his bloody hands in it. Keori snatched up the offending bowl, muttering passionate expletives all the while, and stalked from the room in a tiff.

~*~*~

Keori stumbled and tripped his way to the washroom, almost slopping the contaminated water onto the stony floor. Aching arms protested the late night activity and a still tender side throbbed dully from the added strain.

"Spent too much damn time in that bed ... gone soft ... Pfft!" Keori grumbled to himself while pouting petulantly. "Teo ... inconsiderate ass! Had to go and make a mess knowing I needed to clean too." Keori seethed under his breath. The fact that Teo had unselfishly aided him just moments before completely escaped the irritated boy's notice. Upon reaching his destination, Keori proceeded to empty the basin. Then the incensed young man quickly washed his own hands in the icy water from the spigot. By the time he'd finished scrubbing out the soiled pot his arms from the elbows down felt frozen. Lacking a towel and shivering from the cold air striking his damp hands, Keori swiped the appendages against his breeches. Lastly he filled the bowl again and made his way back to the room.

Keori staggered violently over an invisible crack he would've sworn heaved itself from the flat-hewn stone ground for the sole purpose of tripping him up. Quite sadly the vigorous upheaval also propelled a fair amount of frigid water onto his arms and bandaged chest.

"Damn it to hell!" Keori growled lowly through curled lips. '_Now,__ not only am I bleeding, reeking, and in pain but I'm also freezing and sopping wet! I'll be lucky if I don't catch pneumonia or suffer hypothermia_.' At the thought Keori's shoulders slumped and a low disparaging groan escaped his lips.

"Did you hear something?" Keori pulled up short from his faltering gait and unconsciously held his breath. Within mere seconds he deduced himself unfit for combat being unarmed and exhausted. Keori hastened to press himself against the closest unnaturally shadowed wall. '_Shit! How did that escape my attention?_' Keori berated himself fiercely. The dancing candle flames along each stone wall were conspicuously absent. Stolen memories of another dark corridor flashed unbidden through Keori's mind; and he hoped fervently that the incident would not end in death as the previous had. A quiver ran up his spine.

Suddenly, a clearly nervous voice disrupted Keori's internal anxiousness.

"No, I-I don't hear anything." The stage whispering voice wavered but carried clearly to Keori's ears. With utmost care, Keori set the round urn on the floor beside him; the slight click of ceramic on stone made him wince. He waited with bated breath for the speakers to come barreling around the corner at the feeble sound.

"Rats," Keori jumped as the sneering tone sliced through the deathly silent halls, "The pesky vermin manifest everywhere these days." Keori inhaled slowly with his mouth wide open to prevent any undue noise. He could feel his heart thump-thumping rapidly within his ribcage and could swear the sound was reverberating throughout the corridor. Fear clutched at his throat making it constrict painfully; if only he wasn't so tired or at least had a weapon! Shaking off the fear and forcing himself to unclench tense limbs, Keori stealthily crept forward.

The covert conversationalists were just around the corner Keori was lurking before. Keori mentally cursed the unadorned walls of the soldier's barracks. Not to mention the uncarpeted flooring did nothing to muffle the sounds of approaching footsteps. '_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_' If Keori hadn't been in a secluded hallway filled with potentially homicidal persons he would've smacked himself on the head, with the blunt side of his sword even if he had it on hand. His mental tirade continued relentlessly as he belatedly removed his shoes and set them aside as well.

"Y-Yes, of course. T-Tariq says we-we'll need to-to set up traps or s-smoke them out." The stuttering voice agreed meekly and Keori pictured a reedy man with huge dopey eyes, an overlarge nose, and a perpetually frowning mouth with outsized lips bobbing his head submissively. However, he dared not confirm his overactive imagination by looking around the bend.

"Enough about rats! I didn't come here to discuss inconsequential pests!" the stern voice snarled waspishly. "What can you tell me of tomorrow's security?" The demand was snapped out impatiently.

"W-Well, the guard will be t-two fold, na-naturally. The w-watch won't be dis-discontinued for a-at least a few da-days t-time."

"My question is when?" the first ground out in brusque irritation.

"I ... I-I don't know sir, I-I mean, f-father, sir!" The man stammered sounding highly confused and not a small bit frightened. Keori drew in a shallow, trembling breath. Inching cautiously forward, hands splayed flush against the uneven stone wall to either side of him, Keori peeked around the corner. He was just in time to witness a darkly cloaked figure snag a uniformed guard about the collar to shove him forcefully into the wall. The abused guard let out a pained exclamation as his head thwacked brutally against hard stone.

"What do you mean you don't know? When will the guards be allowed to join in the festivities?" Mr. Dark-clad and Dangerous hissed portentously. Keori watched avidly as the guard quaked within the pale-fingered grasp.

"F-Fur da-ck-yz ... if sometink do-gs-na ha-happen." It was apparent by the way the captured man choked and gasped in his struggle to speak that Mr. Doom and Gloom was strangling him by the shirtfront like Death incarnate. Keori felt slightly ashamed when he realized he felt absolutely no sympathy for the guard. In fact, Keori was tempted to egg the cloaked man on. '_Where the hell does my father get these people?! They're all such cowards who turn traitor at the first intimidating encounter, ugh!_'

"Four days if all goes well with the darling prince's arrival?" the assailant reiterated for the sake of clarification, voice scathing and sarcastic. The guard nodded vigorously in confirmation as he could clearly not speak with his air passage blocked.

Abruptly the malicious antagonist released his grip on the guard's throat and stepped back without removing eye contact. The blood that had surfaced to the guard's face from the lack of oxygen began to recede in concert with his heavy inhaling. The shaken man retched briefly before reaching up a trembling hand to rub at his esophagus; all the while he eyed his aggressor fearfully. Keori continued observing the exchange with wide eyes.

"You had best run along to bed now. We wouldn't want anyone to notice you're nightly escapade. Someone might think you're ... **up** to something." Mr. Dim and Disturbing murmured sinisterly and Keori envisioned him raising an ominous eyebrow.

When the nightly figure whirled around Keori's eyes grew wider. Realizing the confrontation was over; he quickly ducked back behind the partition before he could be spotted. Two pairs of retreating steps beat a staccato across the firm floors and echoed in Keori's ears. The silhouetted boy promptly perceived one of the withdrawing figures approaching his hiding hallway. Keori implemented his stealth-trained limbs by crouching with ghostlike finesse deeper into the shady groove where floor and wall conjoin. The sharp stride advanced expeditiously and rounded the bend making the disjointed steps resonate along the corridor in which Keori did his utmost to avoid detection. Whirling robes of bleak hopelessness created an evil backdrop as the flowing folds fluctuated within the eclipsing shadows of the drafty passageway. However, what really sent a shiver up Keori's spine, and made his hand twitch and spasm for want of a sword, were those narrow nickel-plated slits that fairly glowed with unforetold malice.

Keori had to repress a gasp of surprise when he clearly recognized the sneering facade within the flaring hood. Keori held himself completely still within the deep recesses of the overcast hall and watched as the severe figure stalked past him without so much as a twitchy glance to either side. The boy mentally scoffed at the retiring individual. '_Only a fool trusts that he is safe in the company of familiars_.' The words of his sensei drifted through Keori's mind as he scuttled sideways to retrieve his shoes and the water basin which, by now, had practically no water remaining within it. Grumbling inconsolably and hefting the heavy terracotta bowl back to the washroom; Keori criticized himself for the many mistakes he'd made that evening. After all, he'd been caught without either his sword or daggers in a potentially hostile environment which went against every teaching he had received from his sword-master. '_He'd thump you on the head and call you a idiot apprentice. Then he'd promptly knock you flat on your ass for good measure!_' Keori rebuked scathingly.

~*~*~

It was with an exhausted sigh that Keori shoved his way into the selfsame washroom he'd abandoned a few meager moments ago. He leaned heavily against the wall while watching the basin fill with water for the second time, and contemplated what he'd witnessed. '_What is so interesting about the guard duty over the next few days? Or, more specifically, when the guard would not be on duty? That coward mentioned something about an increase in guard, but that doesn't make sense. What would warrant the security on Fanelia to be intensified; and won't that leave the borders ineffective as they are thinned out?_' Keori shook his head as if to clear out the cobwebs. The evening was far from young and Keori was too energy-depleted to sort out a cryptic midnight tête-à-tête held in an obscure corridor.

The boy suddenly became aware of the water having reached the rim and overflowed. Cascading waterfalls poured along the pristine curves of the ceramic basin. Lethargically Keori turned off the faucet and let out some of the excess liquid. His tired arms fumbled to haul up the weighted bowl, and Keori was tempted to weep piteously. Shuddering from the chill that infused his still damp bandages and clothing, Keori warily made his way out the door once more. He kept a vigilant eye even as he was assaulted by vast yawns and violent shivers. The moment he reached the room, Keori gratefully set the wash-bowl down. He was so dog-tired that he could not do much else besides crawl into the top bunk and collapse bonelessly onto the mattress. Before drifting off Keori was able to acknowledge the discomfort he would experience from sleeping still dressed in damp clothing and shoes.

~*~*~

Thump ... clomp clomp clomp ... giggle ... screeet! ... craassshhh ... murmur ...muffled shout ... eerrrk! ... Keori slowly came to as various sounds reached his ears. Groaning he slit his eyes open in the predawn darkness. Below him was Teo's empty bed with un-tucked sheets and ruffled blankets half spilling onto the floor. A clump of lumpy material, that was only vaguely recognizable as a pillow, lay on the floor a few feet from the bed. A trail of discarded garments led to the door which opened momentarily to admit a young maiden dressed impeccably. Grumbling under his breath, Keori turned over and drew his pillow over his head childishly.

"Oh! Master Kan, I didn't think you'd still be asleep. I apolog...dear lord what happened to your back?!" the girl exclaimed, horrified. 'Why me?' Keori moaned mentally before lifting the edge of his pillow to get a full view of the young woman's shocked visage. A delicate hand was held over her mouth and her amber eyes were as wide as saucers.

"I's nothin' Marietta, dun worry 'bout it." Keori slurred and tiredly sat up on his rumpled blankets. The bandages around his torso had come slightly undone and sagged loosely, revealing Keori's broad toned pectorals. His legs curled underneath him clad in scruffy breeches that rode up on one leg and sagged off his narrow hips. Keori's raven-dark hair was tousled and knotted above heavy-lidded eyes with sleep-sand in the corners. Marietta tried to contain a shy smile at Keori's sleep bedraggled appearance but failed miserably as a muffled giggle escaped her. Keori's answering look of confusion only heightened the adorable image and Marietta laughed good-naturedly.

"Well, are you gonna get up anytime soon? Only 'cause I've got to get these rooms cleaned by dawn." Marietta pouted falsely with her hands on her hips in mock scorn. Keori rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a fist and blinked stupidly at the young maid. Noise and shouts from the hallway outside carried through the door as Keori shook his head and ran a hand through his unkempt locks.

"What's going on? Why is everyone up and about this early?" Keori mumbled the question; glancing out the window just to be sure it was indeed appallingly early. It was Marietta's turn to give Keori a perplexed look.

"Haven't you been informed? Master Gaddes notified the Crusade crew yesterday." Marietta asked skeptically as she scooped a pair of pants from the floor and methodically folded them before placing them into one of Teo's drawers. Keori swung himself off his bunk, landing in a crouch in front of a startled Marietta.

"Actually, I was in town all of yesterday after the departure." Keori winced faintly as his wounds were aggravated by his acrobatics. "I didn't have a chance to speak with Gaddes. Would you mind filling me in?" Marietta paused, holding a clean folded shirt in her arms, and regarded Keori silently. Her hands smoothed over the fabric, unconsciously straightening out the creases and pleats. Keori gently removed the shirt from her grasp and dumped it unceremoniously into Teo's drawer. Next he bent to snatch up soiled leather breeches and tossed them into the laundry basket.

"Oh, well, sure!" Marietta gave Keori a grateful smile and moved over to the bed, salvaging the pillow on her way. "The Duke of Freid is coming today. There will be festivities throughout the day to celebrate his arrival." Marietta was meticulously making the bed and, therefore, did not witness Keori freeze in the act of folding another article of Teo's clothing. Coarse material slipped fluidly through his fingers to land on the floor with a hushed sigh of cloth. All the color drained from Keori's face as he was bombarded with images of Duke Freid's premature demise. "We're all so excited to see his Excellency again. There will, of course, be a guymelef tournament and dueling contests." she continued talking as she ironed out the wrinkled bedspread with her hands. "But, I like the food and fun games the most. All the death and shedding of blood lately has given me nightmares. What with..." Marietta whirled around suddenly with a mortified expression on her face, "Oh god! I'm so sorry Master Kan; I didn't mean any offense!" Keori was shaking his head sympathetically, having rapidly regained his composure from his initial shock.

"That's quite all right; I understand what you mean. Now, when you speak of the Duke of Freid you mean Chid zar Freid, yes?" Keori questioned deftly. Marietta tossed him a quizzical look over her shoulder as she leaned down to lift the trash can.

"Of course, what other Freid is there?" To Keori's dismay Marietta retained eye contact while waiting for his response. Keori merely shrugged and turned to stare dully at the full laundry hamper. "You know, sometimes you act as if you've never been here, and other times it's as if you know everything." Marietta observed shrewdly, approaching Keori and taking up the laundry basket. She balanced the hamper on one hip and carried the garbage can by its lip. "Either way, it's none of my business," she adjusted her load more comfortably, "Though I do suggest you ready yourself for duty; today will be a busy day." With that said the petite girl quit the room, leaving the door wide open behind her. Keori could see an abundance of guards traversing the halls and maids scurrying to accommodate the additional sentry. Shouted orders and welcoming laughter echoed loudly along the foyer. Keori took a deep breath and closed the door to prepare himself for duty. No doubt the responsibility would fall on him to protect the princesses.

~*~*~

The change wrought on Fanelia within a few short hours amazed Keori beyond comprehension. It was remarkable what the towns-folk could accomplish with commonplace objects. As he strolled alongside the royal entourage, ostensibly lax and oblivious, Keori's vigilant gaze flitted about absorbing the festive attractions. The once unexceptional quaint brown huts were now splashed with vivacious colors as if a rainbow had manifested itself on the earthen ground rather then the celestial heavens. Crimson sage writhed interchangeably amongst luscious orange foliage with dashes of golden flecks glittering throughout. A titillating inferno ironically contained by thin flammable filaments that make up a canvas. Splashes of jade interspersed with lavender sprouts, pastel-pink blossoms, and weeping baby-blue bulbs reflected the essence of springtime beauty in each lovingly stitched thread. Golden brush-wheat gyrated round a revolving vortex fashioned by subtly altering shades of red. Burgundy swirls bled into scarlet strokes which wilted into cherry twists that faded into muted rose-colored curls that washed out to pale reddish-pink spirals. A spectator could almost swear he feels the heat of the sun emanating from the coarse yarn utilized in the throw rug. Vibrantly dyed fibers braided together to form a plethora of multicolored carpets, blankets, and hangings, all of which were draped over peeling fences or tacked onto drab walls throughout the village. Majestic hues of ruby, turquoise, amethyst, sapphire, topaz, emerald, aquamarine, peridot, and garnet dangled between rooftops in sashaying and fluttering silk ribbons. Geometric patterns swirling and twisting and weaving made the eyes dance in dizzying pleasure. Keori could not contain the smile that tugged on his lips in the face of such stunning beauty.

Wonders never ceased, Keori realized, as his eyes were graced with brightly clad villagers. Common men wore newly stitched coveralls in navy blues or rich browns with pristine white undershirts. The elitists boasted more flamboyant getups of plum, azure, or bottle green material. The women were bedecked in prettily flowered garments of gossamer, satin, or silk in spring time colors. Monetary gain or societal stratification did not impede the joy or excitement of the celebration. Women gossiped outside their radiantly ornamented houses and men stood around enjoying the camaraderie as they discussed their latest building projects, farming produce, or politics. Children ran underfoot spinning little hand-made windmills and giggling vociferously. The very air was suffused with electrifying anticipation.

With one hand hovering ever attentively above his hilt, Keori surveyed the crowed for any hostile entities and kept a conscientious eye on his wards. Naomi and Marilyn were, by far, the most striking people present in the inner throng of guards. Naomi wore a diaphanous russet gown studded with garnet sequins that followed her slim trim elegantly. On her intricately knotted hair sat a simple gold diadem which quite effectively afforded her a more mature appearance. Marilyn also chose a simplistic, but ultimately flattering design for her welcoming apparel. Her pearl white evening dress folded over in a decidedly Asian manner with only one floral print on the back, an elaborately burgeoning cherry blossom branch. The petite blond wore a more detailed crown, one with painstaking carvings wrought in gold that nevertheless gave the impression of sophistication.

However, as charming as the girls were they could not hold a candle to her Royal Majesty Queen Isadora. Immaculate, exquisite, gorgeous, any of these terms, Keori thought, could easily be applied to the ice-apparition who headed the delegation alongside his Majesty King Van Slanzar de Fanel. Queen Isadora was swathed in gauzy lengths of silk the hue of vintage white-wine. Delicate lilac flowers still clinging to their leafy stems and daintily perching blue jays were sewn into the fragile material in an elusively convoluted design. The spectacular color scheme accentuated the Queen's distinctive eye color and enhanced her refined bone structure. Isadora's golden hair had been plaited and twisted into an elaborate bun, a few escaping wisps curled on each side of her cultured visage leaving her delicately slender neck bare. A fabulous crown studded with pale gems amid engravings of vines created the guise of a garland sat atop the Queen's head. Despite her unquestionable magnificence, though, Keori did have to admit that neither the mystical gown nor the lovely crown could defrost the Queen's sub-zero demeanor. The aloof smile Queen Isadora displayed did not suit her at all, and not for the first time Keori wondered how in the name of the Draconians did his father fall in love with her?

Keori looked to his father in calculated thought as they finally reached the spacious field in which the various activities were to take place. Duke Chid's procession was due to arrive any moment. For the first time, discounting his visions of Van's coronation, Keori saw his father properly dressed like a Sovereign. The King wore an opulent silk shirt in a deeply rich shade of gray and black leather slacks soft as butter. A matching raven-colored cape adorned his shoulders imperialistically. The flowing creases were frequently teased by the midday breeze, affording all present a glimpse of the Fanelian crest embroidered on the back of ebony cloth. Upon Van's rather rugged mop of hair sat a dazzling gold crown with the crest etched in the heart of the thick band. Also there were, of course, the royal accoutrements Keori was exceedingly familiar with; the finely crafted sword with sheath, the signet ring, and the cloak brooch. So intent was Keori on his scrutiny that he utterly failed to notice the arrival of Duke Freid and his convoy. One moment he'd been standing in front of an immense empty field and the next he was staring incredulously at a robust, blonde-haired man surrounded on all sides by guards and close advisors.

"Lord Fanel, I offer my most heartfelt thanks for this most exceptional reception." a deep bass voice issued forth. The Duke of Freid and the Lord of Fanelia shook hands momentarily until Van grinned broadly and hauled the taller man into a bone-crushing hug. '_Damn, he's a freakin' leviathan!_' Keori thought ungraciously. '_And it looks like dear ole' dad admires him to pieces...as if Chid was his son..._' Keori added bitterly and then sighed.

Indeed, Prince Chid, the once diminutive, fragile-looking, tow-headed boy had grown into a giant, broad-shouldered, fair-haired Duke. Chid's acute muscularity, sun-bronzed skin, and sun-bleached hair exuded power and a sense of purpose. The amount of time he spent outdoors engaged in strenuous activities was profoundly apparent. Keori could not prevent his shoulders from sagging slightly in the face of such an adversary. '_How the hell am I expected to compete with that?!_'

"Come Chid, the day is young and my people have been awaiting an occasion such as this to make right fools of themselves. Today we celebrate the betrothal of you and my beloved daughter. Nothing could make me more contented with life then to know she'll be well off and blissfully married to a man such as yourself." Van's booming voice carried well through the crowd which burst into raucous applause. Keori blanched and whipped his expectant gaze to Naomi's face. The girl, '_My sister!_' he reflected in astonishment, was only thirteen and blushing like the virgin bride she supposedly was.

Keori wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about the recent turn of events. One thing he did know was that he'd grown fiercely protective of the elegant young lady currently smiling at her twenty-year old fiancé. Duke Freid laughed at something Van said and wrapped a friendly arm about Naomi's shoulders as her complexion deepened by a few shades, supposedly from what her father had said. Keori unconsciously growled at the motion and thought sinisterly of driving his sword through the young duke. '_If he lays one hand against her in the wrong manner or contrary to her wishes I'll seek retribution myself_.' Keori promised silently while glaring daggers between the dukes's shoulder blades. He could do nothing at the moment except sullenly follow the assemblage to where the games were to commence.

~*~*~

Keori stood in pure boredom next to the temporary throne listening in irritation to Chid and Naomi's inane conversation. They had covered everything from Chid's low crop gain to Naomi's violin lessons. There wasn't even a scrap of potentially helpful information regarding renegades or rebels, which Keori suspected was intentional on Chid's part. '_Probably thinks Naomi's too fragile to handle the idea of death_,' he decided wonderingly, '_Unless, of course, he doesn't think her intelligent enough to comprehend security measures...In which case I'll have to bash his head in for the insult!_' Keori narrowed his eyes viciously toward the unsuspecting duke. Keori couldn't fathom for the life of him why he was bristling at the mere thought of Chid debasing Naomi's intellect. He could only attribute his newfound sentiments to the fact that he'd never had a sibling to safeguard before and, now that he did, he took his position seriously whether Naomi was aware of their relation or not.

Keori shifted his stance as he began to feel the pins-and-needles sensation associated with sleeping limbs. Chid had not once acknowledged or noticed his presence and it irked Keori, to some extent, that he was so invisible to his sister's betrothed. Marilyn chatted amiably with the two from time to time, but for the most part she tried to coax Allen into reluctant conversation. The Asturian Knight was clearly attempting to get away from the homesick girl, presumably to undertake in the management of the festivities; but he was making the effort not to appear rude.

"Oh Marilyn, leave Allen alone! Honestly, he has enough to be getting on with without you pestering him." Naomi finally stated, quite impolitely at that.

"And what, pray tell, makes you the queen of all that is men? Just because you're engaged doesn't mean you can act so condescending." Marilyn was so caught up in retorting to Naomi's instruction that she did not notice Allen slip off to his duties.

"Well I don't see your father getting any proposals for your hand." Naomi countered smugly. Keori's gaze slid to Chid in order to gauge the Duke's reaction. Chid was looking torn between amusement and discomfort in the face of their tiff.

"You know as well as I that had you been born a male we would've been betrothed! There aren't any beaus my age and, besides, father doesn't want to pressure me into anything."

"That means he wants to keep you available in case there's another war and he needs to form an alliance marriage." Naomi supplied soberly. Before Marilyn could retort a motion in their periphery caught their attention. Momentarily Keori glanced over to his father as the man stood and waved for the attention of his people. Naomi and Marilyn fell silent as did most of the gathered populace.

"First we'd again like to welcome Duke Freid to our humble kingdom and ask that he make himself at home," the crowds cheered, "I've known my future son-in-law since the war where he proved, on a number of occasions, that he was capable of leadership. He even went as far as defying his father for me on a limb of faith. The courage and wisdom you showed at such a tender age still astounds me when I think back on those gruesome times; I salute you." Van raised a glass filled with red wine and all those in the crowed who had a beverage followed suit. Chid nodded solemnly and raised his own mulled mead before uttering one phrase.

"And to all those who's courage and wisdom took them to their graves." Chid intoned somberly. Keori felt his heart squeeze and inhaled sharply as memories of war savaged lands, carcass strewn fields, and rivers of blood assaulted his mind. He could see the echoing pain in those who'd been present during the Zaibach wars. Keori felt bereft without a glass to raise in commemoration. '_Am I forever cursed to be shunted to the outside looking in?_' he questioned sorrowfully.

"Now," Van cleared his throat significantly, "Let us begin the celebrations!" On cue two mobile suits filed into the arena and faced off. A deafening roar filled the multitude until not even the engines could be heard over the thunderous din.

~*~*~

The mock battles went on for hours until Keori thought he'd justly go insane from the riotous noise. More accustom to being alone or among few people in affable silence Keori couldn't stand substantially large throngs of people all speaking at once. It was different in the suits where your sole focus is on the match and the crowd is just another distraction to be ignored. Here, in the stands Keori felt claustrophobic, hemmed in on all sides by guards and royals. At a gathering this huge it was safest to keep the royal family in the middle of a ring of sentry. Keori just wished he could've foregone the responsibility of attending at all. The current match came to a rather anti-climactic finish and, as the masses made their disapproval known, Keori winced in pain.

"Keori, are you all right?" Naomi's concerned voice somehow carried over the tumultuous crowd and Keori moved to her side massaging his temples. He leaned over Naomi's chair slightly so that he would not need to shout to be heard. In doing so he drew the attention of both Marilyn and Chid who had been watching the combatants exit their guymelefs.

"I'm gonna have a splitting headache into next Tuesday!" Keori called out, only faintly above a polite decibel. Naomi gave him a sympathetic look and patted the footstool next to her in invitation.

"I don't think I should your Highness, I'm on duty." Keori looked down to the alluring bench regretfully. As if in protest of his rejection, his temples throbbed twice more painfully than before.

"Nonsense, I don't see why father even dragged you out here when we're surrounded by guards! You'll be glad to know there's an intermission after this match, and the finale is after that. Take a load off, you're still recovering and I heard about your little mishap yesterday." Naomi ordered authoritatively with a pointed look at where he'd stabbed himself. Keori caught the interested expression on Chid's face and shook his head again despite the tremendous pain it caused him.

"All the more reason I shouldn't Princess Naomi. Now would be the operative time to stage an assassination." '_Yeah right!_' Keori thought to himself. If he'd wanted to kill the princess he'd have done it while all the attention was turned to the match. "Though I am most curious about how you found out about yesterday." Keori added on second thought, glancing about for possible dangers.

"Margarita, the castle's biggest gossip, just happens to be my personal maid and she's the sister of Marietta." Naomi informed him complacently before narrowing her eyes at him. "And, I'll thank you not to act as though I'm a brainless twit. I know as well as anyone that the best time to assassinate someone is when everyone is focused on something else, for argument's sake lets say the guymelef match."

"Now, now no one is claiming you're dense, Love. Am I not right Mr...?" Chid placed a placating hand on Naomi's knee and turned his keen blue gaze on to Keori.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I haven't introduced you two yet!" Naomi exclaimed apologetically to which Marilyn snorted and received a glare in turn. "Keori, meet my fiancé Duke Chid zar Freid. Chid, meet Keori Kan, my somewhat personal guard." Naomi introduced with pleasure.

Chid raised an eyebrow, apparently he'd thought Keori was just another guard, or perhaps only an apprentice given his age. Keori seethed silently, '_He's only got almost six years on me, that isn't much! It's not like he's ancient or anything._' Keori was drawn from his deliberations when someone slapped him on the shoulder good naturedly.

"Hey, aren't ya gonna give 'em something to watch Keori? I thought you'd be one of the first in line!" Reeden asked with his familiar goofy smile and lopsided cap.

"He most certainly won't. He's still recovering and shouldn't overextend himself until his wounds heal." Naomi crossed her arms imperiously and leveled a glare at Reeden.

"Aw common, I need someone ta bet on!" Reeden turned to Keori with a hopeful look knowing it was Keori who'd have the last say.

"Sorry Reeden but I've got my duties." Keori smiled despite his pounding skull and waved as Reeden gave a halfhearted adieu. Once the man had left Keori caught Chid watching him curiously and returned the duke's stare pointedly.

"I find it odd that someone so young is put in charge of such high profile targets." Keori scoffed silently at the man but outwardly remained impassive.

"Well Keori saved my life in Asturia and he's proven his loyalty to my father quite clearly." Naomi stated bluntly giving Chid a suspicious glance. Keori raised an eyebrow at Naomi's defensive attitude. Obviously she'd taken whatever Orland said to heart and didn't enjoy someone questioning it.

"Yes, he fought a guymelef on foot and won. If it weren't for Keori the three of us would be dead, Naomi, Celena, and I." Marilyn confirmed. Chid looked surprised and did a double take.

"Are you saying that **he** is the one who's rumored about?" Chid demanded disbelievingly, scrutinizing Keori from head to toe. Keori was tempted to draw his sword. '_What __**is**__ it about this guy that rubs me the wrong way?_' The itching need to confront Chid finally became too much for him. Keori gave a contemptuous sneer before professing the need to return to duty and walked off. Keori could hear Marilyn and Naomi filling Chid in about the goings-on of the past few days as he returned to post.

"No doubt he'll know everything by nightfall." Keori grumbled dejectedly.

~*~*~

When the intermission ended and the last two guymelefs entered the arena Keori turned his attention to them. He wasn't the only one surprised to see Allen's Scherazade judging by the enthusiastic response of the bystanders. The crowd became especially ecstatic, to the point of sound combustion, when they realized the opponent was none other then Orland. Keori felt an answering flutter of anticipation in his own breast at the prospect of the match. The sun was just starting its descent from its zenith but there were still some decent hours of sunlight left. Keori gripped his hilt eagerly and quickly scanned the congregation before the start of the match. Even if he wanted to watch the bout he still had to keep an eye out for the princesses' safety.

As his eyes passed over the monarchs he frowned in the direction of the King and Queen. He didn't find it odd that his own father was on his feet and cheering boisterously for his Weapons Master to win. No, what grabbed his attention was the black clad figure kneeling at Queen Isadora's side speaking to her in confidence. '_Of what does that hell-cat speak so intimately with her Highness_?' Keori speculated apprehensively. At a jarring ring his attention returned to the match just in time to see the two guymelefs clash together. Clouds of debris and dirt whirled into the tightly knit groups of people. The spectators appeared oblivious, shouting at the tops of their lungs and cheering on their favorite participant despite dust and dirt coating their throats and mouths.

Keori's breath caught as he saw the beauty intrinsic in a guymelef battle. Granted the mobile suits were overly large buckets of tin that did not move very gracefully and tended to blunder around when a pilot miscalculated the extent of motion, but still they were fascinating. The way the sun glinted off the highly raised swords and glistened off the metal bodies was mystifying in a sense. On the outside Keori couldn't feel the heat of the sun nor taste the bitter grit between his teeth. He could only see how the abrupt movements caused Scherazade's ornamental cape to billow about charmingly in the playful wind. The conflicting collisions seemed effortless, like a choreographed dance.

Orland and Allen were grappling for dominance from the outset. As they stood applying pressure to one another's guymelef Keori could detect the clashing of wills within that isolated circle. The groaning of strained metal permeated the air and Keori found himself holding his breath and wondering which guymelef would give out first if the two kept at it. Scherazade had the obvious advantage in height but with larger size came a higher percentage of weak points in the metal. The only explanation Keori had for Scherazade's continued unity was Allen's expert use of the rapier. Allen would certainly know of the weaknesses in his guymelef and compensate it with his own skills.

Orland was apparently paying attention as well, Keori noted, for the Swords Master was trying to extend his reach to the panels which were weaker then the joints. Conversely Orland's Achilles' heel lay in his guymelef's joints. The larger brute power of Scherazade could devastate the delicate machinery that made up the smaller guymelef's elbow links. A loud moan of buckling metal had Keori gnawing on his bottom lip and tugging unconsciously on his ears. Any moment now one of Orland's arms was going to be ripped off and then it'd all be over. To Keori's astonishment Orland purposely kicked out a leg and made his guymelef topple. '_What the hell?!_' Keori gasped as Orland used the same leg and the momentum of the fall to propel Scherazade up and over him. Allen was flipped onto his back and both pilots were left scrambling to regain their feet. '_Holy shit! That was awesome!_' Keori's mind bellowed enthusiastically, his headache nothing but a niggling afterthought in the face of such a spectacle. All around him the viewers screamed their approval and shouted for more. Feet stomped on the ground and whistles saturated the dust clouded air. Keori hadn't even realized that he too had joined in the screaming frenzy until he choked on dust particles and went into a coughing fit.

With watering eyes and a raw throat, Keori watched both challengers gain their feet and face off for the second time. Keori noted Allen's hesitancy to get too close to Orland. The two circled for a moment or two, sizing each other up. The wind picked up and, as if it were an invisible signal, the two went at it again. Sun-kissed blades sliced cleanly through the air and clanged metallically against one another. Sandy grit swelled from the ground and was flapped by the undulating royal blue cape toward the outsiders. They darted apart immediately, implementing the minute fragments of agility the guymelefs possessed. Massive flat-footed slabs clunked against the earthen floor and sent miniature tremors into the land. Pivoting on their toes they darted at each other again, this time scraping their blades and sending sparks into the shadow lengthening sky.

Keori recognized the swift form of combat involving trying to strike the opponent without actually confronting him. The first to succumb to exhaustion would lose in the endurance oriented style of swordsmanship; Keori would know as it was the style he used. Each fighter had a fair chance of coming out on top in a battle of stamina. Allen had less muscle mass compared to Orland which meant he was physically more apt to keep up the fast pace. However, it took more effort for Allen to control Scherazade then it took for Orland to pilot his guymelef. Keori was startled to realize the two were almost perfectly matched in their guymelefs. Who would've been able to predict the outcome of the match had the two fought in the same model of guymelef? It seemed they made up a convenient system of checks and balances that countered and compensated each other's disadvantages. Keori was tempted to laugh out loud. His attention swayed to the skirmish as a voluble roar rent through the air. Somehow Allen had gotten his rapier past Orland's defenses and damaged his left arm. Large sparks and glimmering strings of electricity emanated from a ghastly gapping split in the metal. Orland summarily retreated, being sure to keep his damaged components from striking distance. Keori could see that the entire rotation joint in the left shoulder was severed. Orland would have to fight with a single arm.

The crowd cheered and jeered with renewed vigor raising the decibel level from that of deafening to down right earsplitting. Perhaps spurred by the crowds, or more accurately provoked through feelings of confidence and desperation, the competitors redoubled their own efforts. Allen was hacking away at Orland's failing resistance with devastating finesse. Orland's perimeter of defense was shrinking until he was left with little space to maneuver his sword into blocking position. Keori could imagine the state the two were in, exhausted, filthy, and stubbornly persistent that the enemy would fail.

The sunlight was fading more; the sky now filled with strokes of pink, orange, and yellow was dappled with purple all thinly spread over periwinkle blue. The temperature had dropped significantly, so much so that children were hurriedly bundled into handy coats and blankets. Wives settled into the arms of their husbands and continued to root their favorite combatant on in the warming embraces. Keori noted that Naomi was snuggled comfortably in Chid's arms with her right hand clasping his. The sound of serrated metal grabbed his interest and his gaze locked on the continued power struggle between Caeli Knight and Ex-Mercenary. Orland had taken another hit in the left arm but it appeared almost intentional which didn't make any sense. '_What are you thinking Orland?_' Keori conjectured on the possible advantages Orland gained from receiving the hit. He wracked his brain until the answer struck him like a ton of levi-stones. '_Of course! Orland has room to..._' Keori's path of deliberation came to an abrupt halt. In a suicidal move Orland began to charge Allen who reacted by rushing forward as well.

"He can't honestly expect to win in a full out charge!" Keori thought dubiously, completely unawares he'd also bellowed it out loud.

Clunk-ca-ching...clunk-ca-ching...clunk-ca-ching...clunk-ca-ching...the metallic feet compressed and released rhythmically as they advanced rapidly. The crowd lost its head, screaming women, shouting men, and wailing babies merged into a blaring racket that drowned out the guymelef strides. Keori watched with wide eyes as the guymelefs hurtled with alacrity as if on silent film. When Orland suddenly drew his sword into a downward position Keori could follow its blurry arc. The steel grey blade blindingly reflected what little light there was. Keori could see the abraded metal had countless nicks along its length courtesy of the brutal handling. As if in slow motion the blade plunged into the rich auburn soil. Keori blinked in confusion and time seemed to speed up exponentially.

Allen was charging still and raising his blade for the deciding swing; his cape whipped about in a flurry of angry motion. Then all of a sudden Orland was airborne. Using the momentum of his sprint Orland had reached out his good arm and snagged the imbedded sword and had propelled himself, sling-shot style, at Allen. Allen was left with no defense, the arch of his blade too far advanced to stop or alter into a more protective position. The feet of Orland's guymelef struck Scherazade full force in the center where the cockpit was located. Orland's guymelef dropped to the ground like an anvil with a thunderous clangor of strained metal. Scherazade was rammed backward so forcefully that the guymelef skidded several feet until the roughly raked grasslands brought it to a standstill.

Chilling silence fell as if a blanket had been drawn over the whole kingdom. Strangely not even the sound of whimpering babies or scared children rent the air. Keori was sprinting toward the crumpled guymelef without so much as a passing thought. As he blew by Orland's guymelef the Arms Master joined him. Together the two ran to the fallen guymelef that hadn't even twitched since it'd been hit.

"Damn, I didn't expect that to work so well." Orland snarled with self-loathing. Keori simply shook his head and ran faster, Orland nipping his heels. Within moments they reached Scherazade and through mutual silent communication Orland hoisted Keori onto the bodice of the guymelef before climbing himself. Keori didn't wait for Orland to join him but scurried to where the drag energist was located on Scherazade. Recklessly Keori dropped his hand on the virtual heart of the machine and the sound of hissing hydraulics greeted Orland as he kneeled beside Keori on the left arm. Keori eyed the damage as the locks released, the cockpit looked dented inward. He felt a small bit of apprehension break away from the molten ball churning in his stomach when the doors didn't jam.

"That's a good sign. If the caving was worse they would've seized up and we would've had to cut him out. If he's sustained serious injury...well..." Orland ran a hand absently over his hair and, as the last barrier lifted completely, they both peered inside.

Allen lay unconscious with his eyes closed gently, long eyelashes stroking filthy cheeks. Two wet streaks mottled the dirt along his cheeks; whether they were tears of pain or tears from sun glare was unclear.

"Fuck! He's bleeding." A small trickle of blood trailed from Allen's sensuous lips and made the ball of apprehension burn painfully within the pit of Keori's stomach. In reaction Keori punched the guymelef...hard...and it **hurt**. Keori felt tears sting his eyes and bit his lip to stem them.

"That was very unwise." Orland stated warily as he tried to spot any other damage indicators.

"No shit Sherlock!" Keori snarled viciously at Orland before he lowered himself into the cockpit beside Allen. Meticulously he began to feel for broken bones, starting at the neck and working his way down. Orland did not deign to comment on Keori's rudeness but watched as he probed the unconscious man. When Keori reached Allen's lower rib cage the Caeli Knight groaned audibly.

"Allen?" Keori called concernedly. When he received no answer he probed the lower ribs again, this time eliciting a muttered curse.

"Damn you...stop touching it!" Allen wheezed weakly. His crystal blue eyes squinted open and he gave Keori a harsh, pain-filled glare.

"I have to make sure nothing is broken before we haul your ass out of this bucket of bolts, now stop fussing." Keori commanded a little worriedly.

"Nothing's broke, my ribs...bruised pretty bad...though." Allen coughed weakly and blood flecked onto Keori's shirt.

"Allen, you're bleeding from your mouth. If one of your ribs is broken and punctured a lung..." Keori began uneasily only to have Allen shake his head vehemently.

"Not from lungs...bit lip...in fall." Allen panted feebly. He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again a little wider then before. "Breathing...hurts like...a bitch...though." Keori shook his head and then spoke up to Orland.

"Reach down and help me get him up Orland; I can't lift him myself with so little room in here."

"So you're...here too...That...was some...kick...Knocked me...off my feet." Allen looked indistinctly toward the hovering figure blocking the sunlight. In moments all three were chuckling and then laughing until Allen began to gasp for air and wince in pain.

"Don't...make me...laugh...It hurts." Keori caught Orland shaking his head as he reached his thick arms into the cockpit and maneuvered them under Allen's armpits. Together they lifted Allen out of the guymelef only to be greeted with the anxious faces of Van, Naomi, Chid, Marilyn, and a surfeit of Fanelian citizens. When Allen spotted the concerned groups he lifted an arm, cringing from the pain it caused his abused ribs, and assured them he was fine. The clapping began slowly until others joined in and soon everyone was giving Allen a standing ovation. Keori and Orland traded an amused glance before they gently lowered Allen onto an awaiting stretcher. When they both dropped to terra firma Orland strode over to where Allen was being looked over by a medic.

"Schezar, I want to apologize..." Orland began only to be cut off by a wave of Allen's hand.

"I don't...think even you...expected that...to happen...All's forgiven." Allen allowed his arm to fall limply at his side and rolled his eyes at Orland. "Now go...watch the...sword tournament." Orland watched Allen for a few moments longer before shaking his head sharply and sitting beside him.

"I'll stay here; the rest of you might as well enjoy what's left of the festivities." Keori nodded in understanding and headed back to the arena, the majority of the crowd followed him.

~*~*~

The last event of the evening was a swordsmanship contest. Many of the citizens were excited about the event for the simple reason that one needn't be a guard or anything to participate. The competition was open to everyone and there was a junior tournament for those whose parents teach them. Standing statuesquely next to Naomi and Chid once again Keori had the uncanny feeling of déjá vu. After the excitement of the last guymelef battle Keori, quite frankly, found the sword fighting dull.

The sun had begun to set, the multihued sky growing darker and more black than blue. The clashing of the steel blades was nothing more than a minute bother, an irritation. The crowd was more subdued. Families sat together munching on victuals found in abundance on the long tables nearby. Children not in the competition sat in their parents laps watching the duels or playing quite board games. Some of the younger offspring were just too tuckered out to root for their siblings and fell asleep in loving arms or curled on top of comfy blankets. Doting mothers chuckled at the antics of their broods and lovingly covered those dead to the world. Keori felt a pang of longing for his mother; he missed her terribly. More pragmatically though, he desired some sustenance; he'd only had a quick ham sandwich before beginning his guard duty, but the facts were he was required to eat at the welcoming feast. Sometimes being Orland's apprentice was a royal pain in the ass.

~*~*~

Keori had been staring around in boredom for what seemed like hours when suddenly Naomi screeched in disbelief and startled him into looking to where she pointed. Keori was surprised to see that the men's tournament was finished, but more importantly he was stunned to see two identical boys facing off against each other. Benjiro and Jiro in turn met his eyes and grinned like Cheshire cats. Keori frowned and turned his stare on Naomi and Van. Naomi looked pale with worry, which was understandable given her belief that her brothers were incompetent with swords. Chid was trying to calm her down and prevent her from rushing over to the twin boys. Keori's gaze traveled to gauge his father's reaction. Not much was in evidence besides a furiously throbbing vein in his temple, a tic in his right eye, and a thin lipped mouth. Yep, his father sure could control his temper when the need arose.

Keori edged a little further away from the twitchy man. Almost as a result of the move Keori spotted Queen Isadora's expression. The best word to describe it was...disturbing. The woman's eyes were narrowed with inexplicable rage and for once Keori spotted some color in the alabaster skin. The bastard prince could swear he heard her teeth grinding and thanked the deities she wasn't his mother. As far as Keori was aware, Queen Isadora had little to no contact with her offspring, leaving them to maids, family friends, and their father to be cared for. Keori couldn't think of any better way to raise stable, sane children in the face of such a cold, unfeeling woman. '_What does he see in her?_' Keori peered at his father through his bangs as he tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible. Someone was going to pay for the deception of teaching Van's boys how to fight with a sword, and Keori wanted to stave off the inevitable for as long as humanly possible. Van's sympathy toward Keori's screwed up psyche could only go so far before he advocated Keori's death.

While Keori sweated about his impending doom, the twins remained blissfully unaware. '_I should've told them they can't do something like this! The little miscreants just had to want to test out their mettle. I should've suspected something like this when I didn't see them all day. Grr!_' Keori watched as the match began. The two boys were dressed in maneuverable clothing that was as close to the body without becoming constricting. '_At least they listen_.' Keori grumbled begrudgingly. Now he only had himself to blame for not telling them what they could or couldn't do with their lessons.

Jiro was naturally the first to move being the brasher of the two. Ben countered with precision and an ease that only served to annoy his brother. Keori could see the anger surfacing in Jiro's stance and had to stem the urge to go swat him on the back of the head. The prevalent problem they'd been having in the lessons was Jiro's quick temper. So, it was to Keori's immense amazement that Jiro took a deep breath and visibly calmed. '_Well I'll be damned_.' What followed was a beautiful dance of deadly grace. They had learned quickly and learned well. Keori could hear some of the observers comment on the fluidity and refinement of their movements. It wasn't until the stars began to twinkle into existence that the two boys came to a standstill. This time Ben decided to take it upon himself to attack and he swiftly charged at his brother. Jiro smirked at the decidedly dumb move and prepared to counterattack only to be foiled by his brother tripping him up. As Jiro scrambled to untangle himself from his brother and yet still keep a hold on his blunt practice blade Keori could hear amused chuckles from the bystanders. For a few moments he allowed himself to feel a tiny bit proud of what he'd helped his brothers to accomplish.

The bout between the twins ended in a draw given that when they tried to extricate themselves from each other they managed to give the necessary "killing blow," a few times over even. As the townspeople slowly packed up their foodstuffs and scattered belongings, including children, Keori excused himself to prepare for dinner. He admitted only to himself, as he passed by villagers taking down their brightly designed hangings, that he was a bit scared of what awaited him in the dining hall. Avoidance was key, all he had to do was be there on time, not draw attention to himself, and perhaps have faith that the subject might not even be brought up. Keori groaned, '_Tough chance of __**that**__ happening with __**my**__ luck!_'

* * *

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Chapter Song: Mad World by Tears for Fears

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Chapter 21: Skeletons in the Closet**

Keori fiddled with his earthenware mug, making the mulled mead slosh around distractingly. Liquid gold swirled within to reflect the eddying gaiety surrounding him. The dining hall was festooned in silk hangings of ruby, sapphire, and gold to represent the uniting of two countries. Every other banner had emblazoned on it the crest of Fanelia and Freid conjoined together. The high court table was draped in a similar fashion though the embroidery could hardly be seen under all the delectable delights.

Keori sat amid the chattering crowd of royalty and aristocracy hating every second. The lurid yellow eyesore sitting across from him was Lord Rethwellan wearing an ensemble consisting of a constricting vest and puffy trousers over tights. Rourke's fleshy face was flushed with heat and too much wine. Keori winced as the heavy-jowled man talked rambunctiously through a full mouth, spraying bits of food and spittle across the table. Dedrick Dumont, beside Lord Rourke, was too busy arguing with Montgomery Clement over the economy to really care.

"That's ridiculous! You can't possibly expect people to pay that absurd amount when they barely make ends meet as it is!" Dumont shouted heatedly, propelling himself out of his seat and rapping his fists on the table for emphasis. The usually waxen man had two spots of color riding high on his cheeks, result of his temper. Keori noted with revolt how the elevated and inclined position only facilitated the possibility of his being showered in Rethwellan's discharge. So engrossed was Dumont in his quarrel that he failed to acknowledge the bits of food stuff spewed onto his pristine robes. Montgomery, to the right of Lord Rourke, was trembling with suppressed fury at this physical display.

"They will have to deal with the repercussions of the court's actions. I've been warning his Highness against allowing every ingrate into these holdings! Now look at the results! We have far too many farmers, marketers, smiths, and other assorted 'professionals' and not enough consumers. That's without going into the security risks! As far as I'm concerned we should kick out all these damned vagrants who just waltz into town and set up shop. Not to mention those bastard foreigners, as if they didn't have enough where they came from to need **our** resources too!" Clement snarled viciously, his watery green eyes flashing with indignation. Dumont spluttered momentarily before accusing Clement of being a self-serving jackass. At this time Keori quickly averted his gaze as the row escalated in volume and vehemence. The teen had no wish to bring attention to the fact that **he** was one of the outsiders Montgomery spoke of.

A giggle caught Keori's attention and held it as he traced its source. Naomi and Chid had their heads bowed together sharing a private conversation. Naomi had a dainty gloved hand over her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle her glee. Keori caught the royal princess exchanging amused glances with Lord Freid before both looked his way. Chid murmured something into Naomi's ear and she threw back her head to let out a full throated laugh. Wisps of fine black hair bounced jovially over the back of Naomi's chair and her roan eyes danced with mirth. Keori scowled at them both.

'_What the hell do they find so damn humorous? I bet he's mocking me or some shit, the pompous windbag_.' Chid laughed heartily along with Naomi and slipped an unassuming hand along the back of her chair. Keori's eyes narrowed with threatening precision on that unctuous limb. '_Think you'll get away with touching my little sister do you? You have another thing coming Lord Touchy-Feely! Just wait 'til I get you out to the practice field and into a guymelef, then we'll see if you have the stamina to be placing designs on __**my**__ sister!_' Keori asserted ominously. As if to spite him, Naomi leaned into Chid's side and smiled dreamily up at him. Chid was perfectly accommodating as his arm tightened around Naomi's shoulders to transform what had been a casual gesture into a full blown embrace. Keori ground his teeth.

"Keori, calm down. You sound like a disgruntled bear!" Marilyn snickered as she laid a placating hand on his arm. Keori started, he hadn't noticed the princess take the seat beside him. In fact, glancing around, Keori became aware that practically the whole table had filled up while he'd been staring at the guests of honor.

"Is something bugging you?" Marilyn questioned primly as she directed a servant who was filling her plate.

"What?" Keori didn't spare a fleeting glance to his dining partner, being far too distracted by the proximity between Naomi and Chid.

"Don't act stupid; I see you glaring daggers at poor Chid. What do you have against him anyway?" Marilyn asked curiously, captivating Keori's awareness instantaneously. Looking into Marilyn's impish cerulean eyes, Keori debated whether he should answer or not, though the girl appeared sincerely concerned. '_I'm only her elder brother who grew up on another __**planet**__ and who doesn't appreciate suave, blond, blue-bloods putting their smooth tongues and smoother hands to work on __**my**__ little sis_.' Needless to say Keori would be better off ignoring the inquiry as the truth would result in a number of...uncomfortable questions. However, Marilyn did not look to be the least bit cowed or persuaded to leave off the topic by his lengthy silence. In truth, the girl gave the impression that she was further intrigued by his muteness.

'_She's drooling!_' Keori thought exasperatedly, '_Time to revert to my best contingency plan_.'

"I must admit I had kinda...well sorta...Look, I liked her ok? And, that damn Prince is no worthier of her than I am!" Keori lied through his teeth under his breath as Marilyn leaned in close.

"Really!" Marilyn fairly screamed in astonishment, drawing the attention of the diners and the objects of their conversation. Naomi raised a quizzical eyebrow. Keori glared furiously at the tactless banshee and made a sharp hand-gesture for Marilyn to quiet down. "Seriously though?" Marilyn whispered conspiratorially after the lookers-on turned back to their plates and conversations. She positively quivered with barely concealed surprise. '_Aw, shit! Look guilty; look embarrassed; aw, hell!_' Keori's brain worked frantically to conjure a suitable memory that would make him appear as if he'd confessed a deep, dark secret. Immediately his mind provided a replay of the scene in the concert hall and he felt the tell-tale blush suffuse his cheeks.

"Yeah, um, that is, I did have a c-cru...aw hell!" Keori buried his burning face into his hands and slouched in his seat. Marilyn guffawed noisily; Keori gave her his customary glare to signify his dissatisfaction with her reaction. Consequently, his glowering gaze rightly portrayed the resentment that a smitten boy being mocked for his affections might have felt in Keori's place. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up!" Keori grumbled scathingly and made as if to move to another seat. Marilyn's hand clutched at his arm while she strived to stem her amusement. Keori gave a pretentious tug on his arm though he knew he could break the girl's hold with absurd ease.

"No, no, I'm sorry! I'm just shocked is all. You and...and Naomi?" A burst of sound passed her lips though she tried valiantly to cover her mouth and muffle it. For a brief moment Keori was taken off guard. Marilyn's dark periwinkle eyes were moist with tears of delight and her smile radiated sweet beauty. Long, golden-blond strands of hair fell across her face obscuring the tinge gracing her porcelain-smooth cheeks. Keori realized belatedly how truly beautiful the usually dour princess was.

"Forget it." Keori growled in, what to him was mocked, offense. He gained his feet and tugged on his arm once again in an ineffectual motion of departure; whether he wished to escape Marilyn's ribbing or the sparkle in her eyes he refused to acknowledge. The grip on his arm did not slacken. When Keori met Marilyn's eyes she was calmly schooling her features.

"I really am sorry, ok? Sit down," when Keori defiantly stared, "Please?" Marilyn spoke in an earnest timbre as if she truly feared she'd slighted his ego. Keori stood stubbornly for a moment longer, out of principle, before sighing at Marilyn's pathetic expression and stiffly reclaiming his seat. The entire altercation had gone unnoticed among the party-goers.

"There now, everything will be all right. Things'll work themselves out and you'll have girls swarming all around you." Marilyn consoled him optimistically as she patted Keori's hand. Though he felt like rolling his eyes, Keori nodded and smiled confidently in return.

Moments later the princess of Asturia was involved in a heated debate with a nobleman's daughter over the fine points of fashion coordination. '_And the award for Best Actor goes to...Keori Kanzaki for his riveting performance of a love-sick and betrayed adolescent! The crowd goes wild!_' Keori mentally received his award and gave thanks to his mother's heritage which required that he control and manipulate his feelings at will. The pleasure didn't last long as, without Marilyn to distract him, Keori was left to peruse the horde for a second time.

Rethwellan, having consumed far too much alcohol, had been reduced to a state of indecipherable gay hilarity. The arguing dignitaries had moved, presumably to a less public area where they could squabble to their hearts content. In their place were Kio and Piru. The Crusaders were as equally flush as Lord Rourke and sang merrily off key, in a stumbling rhythm, a song that was, to the sober ear, incomprehensible. Keori allowed a benign smile to grace his lips before his eyes traveled elsewhere.

Along the table Keori picked out the familiar faces that he recognized from court and the Crusade crew. All were enjoying the festivities whether it was drinking each other under the table or picking up a warm squeeze for the evening. It did not escape Keori's notice that Orland and his Highness, Lord Van, were conspicuously absent. Queen Isadora, however, sat primly at the head of the table wearing a disdainful expression. The piercing amethyst eyes gazed condescendingly at the drunken fools about her as her nose turned up in revulsion.

Keori made the unfortunate mistake of meeting those razor-sharp indigo glaciers. Blue-violet fire burned with a passionate hatred as they encountered Keori's warm emerald gaze. The teen shivered involuntarily but he could not pull his eyes away from the portentous pools of frosty malevolence. '_Why the hell did Father marry __**her**__? The cold-blooded serpent!_' As if she'd read his mind Isadora narrowed her eyes into keen slits that Keori couldn't help but relate to his earlier metaphor. Keori was spared from the ambiguous wrath of her Highness' livid stare by a convenient interruption via the correspondingly snake-like Minister Regis. As the perpetually black-robed figure furtively conversed with the queen, Keori seized the moment to avert his gaze. Only briefly did Keori's mind question what Queen Isadora and Minister Regis were talking of, for seconds later it would be driven entirely from the spectrum of his thoughts.

In the midst of all the cheerfully gossiping nobles Keori detected a slight commotion outside the hall doors. He didn't even attempt to delude himself that the low rumble could belong to anyone other than his belligerent father. Unconsciously sagging lower in his chair, Keori was not disappointed as the double doors were flung wide open to smack smartly against stone walls. While startled and fearful guards scurried to grasp the rebounding doors the rest of the hall was left to gape at Orland's infuriated visage.

"In all respect, Your Highness, fuck off!" Orland snarled over his shoulder, emphasizing the title. Several dignitaries leapt from their seats in righteous umbrage creating a cacophony of chairs scraping and knocking against stone floors. Those too stunned or drunk to jump to their king's defense merely sat in astonished silence. What ensued were cries of outrage and shouts of propriety that paled in comparison to the answering roar which filled the cavernous hall in deafening tones.

"Don't you fucking turn your back on me you insolent prick! I'll have your damn head on a fucking pike and then shove your lying tongue down your severed throat! I'm sick of your bullshit, Derek, and if you don't turn around, so help me, I'll cut you down where you fucking stand." The perilous commandment ended in a feral growl that echoed about the vaulted ceiling. Orland, who had stalked further into the room all the while effortlessly ignoring his liege, came up short, visibly tensing. Lord Van rounded the edge of the doorway, his hand gripping his steel blade in a foreboding promise. The King's face was a study in ferocity. His skin was familiarly ruddy and his eyes were lit with an intense malice Keori recognized from the previous confrontation between the two seasoned warriors. Keori slunk further down in his seat and piteously begged God to spare him.

"Lie? When the hell have I ever lied to you?" Orland demanded irreverently, whirling to confront Van directly. The congregation had fallen silent upon the entrance of their sovereign though some still stood dumbly, unsure of what action they should take. Keori saw, from the corner of his eye, Naomi huddled in Duke Chid's supporting embrace. The girl was clearly upset by this spoiling conflict. Chid was frowning in displeasure though the hands that rubbed Naomi's back soothingly were gentle. Keori made a brief mental note to reevaluate his opinion of the cradle-robber. Meanwhile, Van halted mid-step, apparently he was taken aback by Orland's defensive retort. The hesitation was short-lived and it was compensated with fortified anger.

"I denied you permission to teach my sons the sword and you gave me your word in return, on your honor, that you would respect my decision! Now, today I find contrary to my wishes and your cheap principle that you've defied me and taught them." Keori caught the smirk that played across the queen's lips at this utterance. Orland flinched almost imperceptibly; Keori doubted anyone besides himself, King Van, and a few choice guards perceived the minute reaction. Orland opened his mouth to, no doubt, fabricate an excuse or accept his unjust punishment.

"Enough." The sound of Keori's chair grating against stone permeated the suffocating air like the groan of a haunted villa. Instantly all eyes swiveled in his direction and narrowed in undisguised suspicion. '_There goes our barely budding relationship_.' Keori noted regretfully as he glimpsed his father's shuttered expression. Disregarding Orland's veiled shake of the head, Keori walked resolutely forward until he stood between his father and mentor. "If you want someone to blame perhaps you should ascertain the bona fide culprit before flinging accusations." Keori intoned evenly. Yes, he could have allowed Orland to take the fall. The ex-assassin would have falsely confessed without a reservation and without kicking up a fuss rather than expose Keori as the factual delinquent. However, Keori could not just stand by and watch his father desecrate the selfless loyalty, stainless honor, or faithful friendship Orland and Van shared over something as trivial as a bastard son.

"I should have guessed it'd be you. Where there is trouble there is the infamous Keori Kan two steps ahead. You've been nothing but a nuisance since you arrived here." Van practically towered over Keori with his hand clutching his sword spasmodically. Keori clenched his jaw angrily, '_Don't cause a scene; don't confront him. He probably won't think twice about lobbing your head clear off your neck_.'

"I don't give a damn what you think about my teaching Jiro and Ben how to defend themselves. If I was given the opportunity I would do it again without qualms. And, I will continue to offer my skills should they wish to learn even now. I must keep my duty by them. If anyone is in need of questioning it is you Sire, for what sort of man neglects to prepare his heir for the weight of the crown? You are blinded by this fragile peace!" Keori bellowed shaking a tightly balled fist in Van's face. '_So much for not goading him_.' Keori chided himself mentally. Van spluttered wordlessly.

"**You**!" Van managed to howl eventually; ripping his sword from its scabbard, the king swung wildly at the brazen youth. Several women screamed shrilly as the swift blade sliced the air. When Keori showed no signs of evading the assault a handful of guardsmen, those who respected and admired the new addition to their ranks, voiced their concern. Naomi whimpered gutturally and buried her face into Chid's broad chest. Orland did not attempt to intercept his monarch, nor did he articulate any form of protest. The craggy ex-assassin was scrutinizing his protégé shrewdly. Keori, for his part, remained motionless, whether it was out of confidence that Van would halt his strike or out of a deeply seeded desire for death was uncertain. Either way, the Fanelian King arrested his swing a hairs-breadth away from Keori's throat. The very force of the displaced air caused tufts of Keori's unruly bangs to oscillate and sashay across his brow. Keori could feel the cold steel nipping into his soft skin, drawing a trace of blue blood.

"Who the hell are you, really? What country are you spying for?" Van queried darkly. An insignificant rivulet of blood leaked against the silvery blade, the crimson tint marring its immaculate perfection. Keori swallowed and winced slightly when the biting weapon cut deeper into his vulnerable esophagus. He could feel the warm stream of his life's liquid seep into the collar of his cloak. Slowly he locked eyes with his Father and spoke in an adamant manner.

"Fanelia **is** my country. My allegiance belongs to you and you alone!" Keori stamped his foot though strangely the action did not appear to be the outburst of a toddler but rather it resembled a physical manifestation of Keori's conviction. Van's jaw tightened in apparent disbelief and the sword quivered at Keori's neck as if the wielder had a short tether on his craving to divest himself of the troublesome reprobate. Women turned their faces into the comforting strength provided by husbands, brothers, or dear friends. Members of the aristocracy stood or sat in bewildering inaction, faltering in the face of potential bloodshed. Keori sighted Naomi plastered against Duke Freid's side. Tears marred her attractive visage though her eyes stared furiously at her father.

"Your Highness...Van, please end this..." Chid called out tentatively, standing up.

"Stay out of this! All of you!" Van barked tenaciously. Chid jerked back and the throng collectively took a step in retreat. Twin disks of molten fury burrowed into Keori's eyes, as if to penetrate the very soul of his existence. Keori sneered in return.

"Yes, don't anyone question the ultimate authority of His Royal Highness." Keori wondered briefly what it was that made him so sarcastic and provocative in such life or death situations. He concluded that it must be genetic.

"You are insufferable! I don't recall what the hell possessed me to accept you into my kingdom let alone my castle!"

"If I remember correctly I neither required your consent nor your compliance to invite myself into your humble abode." Keori rejoined maliciously as a smirk cruelly twisted his lips. The next instant Keori was flat on his back on the ground with his father towering above him. Keori was suddenly very conscious of his father's considerable size and muscular power.

"Don't you ever, **ever** talk to me in that manner again you audacious runt. I am the King of this country and you will learn to Hold. Your. Tongue!" Each word was enunciated in a deadly calm voice that left Keori trembling. His right cheek was pulsating with pain while his head was ringing with the force of the backhand blow. For some inexplicable reason Keori was more distraught over the slap to the face then he was over his father holding a sword to his jugular. "Now get out of my sight before I end your pathetic existence." Van snapped lethally his sword gripped auspiciously in hand.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Song insert: Chop Suey! by System Of a Down

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

* * *

Keori walked along Sekaki Touri, gutters littered with rotting refuse and debris lined the sides. His hands were buried deeply in his pockets, the worn jacket a thin barrier to the whistling wind. The alley was narrow with hardly enough room for one car to pass let alone the alleged two for a two-way street. Skirting a dank, dark dead-end that let off an aura of danger Keori came upon a grey dilapidated apartment building. The walls were crumbling and several windows were boarded up because the glass panes had been smashed one time too many by neighborhood hooligans or street-ball playing punks. One side of the building sagged a little as the foundation began to give way and the front door swung ajar at an odd angle.

Keori slipped inside the gaping chasm into the dusty interior. He completely bypassed the lounge were hookers congregated before their night shifts began, catching only glimpses of scantily clad women wearing tight leather, skimpy halter-tops and too much makeup. Keori took the stairs two at a time until he reached apartment 206. Slumped against the door was a homeless man clearly drunk and in need of a bath. The ratty coat he wore was patched and frayed with vomit stains across the front that smelled fresh. Keori nudged the man out of his way with a foot and a disgusted grunt. Quickly he inserted the key and jimmied the knob expertly. After hearing the lock click he slammed a shoulder into the eternally stuck door and stumbled inside like an alcoholic, the sound of the door closing the only evidence that he'd been there moments before.

Keori carefully picked his way through the living area which was trashed with liquor bottles and cigarette butts. Carl, his foster father was slumped in the recliner staring glassy-eyed at the black and white television and holding a half-empty vodka bottle in hand. The perceptibly drunk man gazed sneeringly at Keori as he entered the room. Keori froze in place and strained his ears to hear sounds of Kimi in the kitchen but the woman was obviously out grocery shopping or on some errand.

"What're you doin' home s' damn-d early brat?" Carl slurred distastefully. Keori frowned and made to go to his room. "Where do ya think yer goin'...ya little pussy? I'm not through wit you yet! Come here ya li'l Jap bastard!" Carl snarled drunkenly, lumbering to his feet and stumbling against the nearby wall before he could fall flat on his face. Keori gave him a look of contempt and brushed past the hefty fellow on his way to the connecting hallway.

Before he could get two steps ahead of the reeking brute, however, he was yanked back forcefully by the collar of his jacket.

"Ya shupid ungra-shiate-ful whore! I took you an' those other bastard freaks inta my home an' look what I get! Dish-respectin' punks like you!" Carl shook Keori vigorously by the neck of his jacket causing the limber teen to choke. The next thing Keori felt was a violent cuff to the back of his head that made spots dance in front of his eyes and a buzz in his ears. Keori immediately began to struggle with the inebriated psycho who only tightened his fist-hold on Keori's jacket. In a deft move Keori slipped out of the ragged leather and sprinted to his room.

Slamming the door and throwing the bolt across it made Keori feel only a modicum of relief. Fervently Keori began to pack his duffle bag with all his most precious belongings. Just as he swung the strap over his shoulder the loud pounding at his door grew more ferocious and the wood splintered. Keori raced to his window and jerked ineffectually at the boards nailed tightly in place.

"I'm gonna get ya, ya damn gook!" Desperately Keori grabbed hold of the ledge above his window and swung his powerful legs forward. The wood cracked and shattered into several pieces that rained onto the decrepit street below. Just then the door burst inward admitting a spitting-with-rage Carl. Without a backward glance Keori flung himself out of the two story high window and landed with a jarring thud in the shadowed alleyway. He paid no attention to the startled cry of the prostitute servicing her john or the strangely flickering banner with a dragon emblem that seemed to manifest itself in the corner of his mind's eye.

* * *

Keori blinked. He was still lying on the floor of the banquet hall where Van had just instructed him to leave. A surge of fear jolted his chest as Keori speculated on how much time had elapsed since he'd been given the order to withdraw. Tariq and another guardsman saved him the trouble by moving forward and offering Keori a hand up. Van, who stood in the same position as Keori saw before the strange memory-vision assaulted him, sheathed his sword gracefully and turned away.

"You are hereby confined to your quarters and relieved of your duties to the crown. Until I say otherwise you will refrain from practicing in the field and from attending the court. I do not wish to see your face even in passing." Van intoned harshly. Keori lowered the hand he'd raised to feel the bruising on his cheek and nodded tightly. Tariq, irritated with Keori for temporarily ignoring his proffered hand, grabbed hold of Keori's wrist and propelled him to his feet. The helpful sentry steadied Keori as the momentum almost sent him face first into the floor. Keori nodded to each in thanks without a word and turned swiftly about-face to leave the spacious corridor. He could feel the eyes watching him like so many knives digging into his back. Squaring his shoulders that were taut enough with the strain of tension, Keori marched from the chamber into the blessed sanctuary of the hallway.

Once the doors had closed with a deafeningly irreversible thud Keori managed to walk unsteadily a few feet before he staggered into a wall. His face was a rictus portrait of sheer anguish and tortured grief. No words could escape his gaping jaw as he laid his head against the stone. His entire being trembled with reaction to the emotional upheaval. Even as he endeavored to shove the pain deeply into his heart so he would no longer have to suffer it, a choked cry escaped his lips and the floodgates released. Profuse tears, a reflection of the ache he felt in his fractured heart, spilled from his moist lashes and splashed against the cold, unforgiving stones. Raised fists beat ineffectually against the hardened rock and Keori wondered if it was his father's heart.

Soon his legs gave out completely, sending Keori slumping against the roughhewn mineral. Keori wrapped his arms around his up-drawn legs and sobbed quietly into his knees. He was so absorbed by his immense misery that he did not even detect Orland's approach until a callused hand descended on his shoulder and the Arms Master slid down beside him. Keori flinched at the contact and glimpsed, through tear-blurred eyes, the grimacing countenance of the Weapons Master.

"Keori Kanzaki, from the Mystic Moon, right?" Orland probed gently, the callused hand on Keori's shoulder squeezed reassuringly. Keori swallowed convulsively and opened his mouth to answer but, all that escaped was a strangled sob. Instead the boy nodded into his knees as fresh dollops of crystalline saltwater washed over his pants and arms. Orland's chest expanded before he let out a gusting sigh. "I heard about the girl who helped Van slay the dragon of the Heir Ritual. Tales told of a young woman from the Mystic Moon who could see the future and invisible foes. Her name was Hitomi Kanzaki; she was your mother right?" Orland's hand snaked around Keori's shoulders in order to pull him closer to the ex-assassin's comforting side. Keori sniffed and took a few shuddering breaths to calm himself.

"Yeah." The whisper was barely audible but Orland caught the small word and felt the subsequent hitch in Keori's breathing. They sat in silence for a short moment as Keori's breath hitched every so often and stray tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Orland's arm remained draped across Keori's shoulders and Keori allowed his head to rest against the comfortingly broad chest; for a second he could deceive himself into thinking that it was his father consoling him.

"How did you find out?" Keori asked softly when his breathing finally recaptured its normal deep pattern. Tracks of dried tears created streaks along his face but, other than that, there was no evidence that he'd been crying so wretchedly just minutes ago. Orland studied Keori's face closely before he shook his head, unsettled.

"I still can't see how I could've missed the resemblance. I suppose it would've been easier had I seen your mother, which only brings to question how Van could miss it. You have the same choppy hair, the same stubborn jaw, and the very same mulish disposition." Orland's lips quirked sharing the private joke. Keori gave a wan smile in return but otherwise remained attentive.

"That didn't answer my question."

"It was that blank look on your face when you were staring up from the floor; it was as if you were seeing something entirely different from what was around you. I was sure you were his son, and that your mother was Kanzaki, at that moment. Then there was the time you said you had a duty to the boys and that Fanelia is your country; that cinched the notion that you were Van's son." Orland explained with a somewhat internal focus. Keori nodded in agreement and shrugged as if to pass off his words as so much drivel.

"But, how could that lead you to think I was related to...to my Father? I mean, I could have been a refugee of the war, part of someone else's family. Just because I said Fanelia is my country doesn't make me _his_ son." Keori persisted in his bafflement. Orland smiled fully this time, though the expression was by no means attractive with its grotesque scar twisting about. Orland tapped a fingertip against the sheath at Keori's side.

"I suspected before, that you were Van's son. The Fanelian crest is etched into the butt of the hilt. Did you think I wouldn't notice that when I held your blade for you while you were injured? " Keori glanced down at his sword as his finger traced the carving unconsciously. Looking up he smiled ruefully at Orland who brought a hand, the one across Keori's shoulders, up to ruffle his messy hair. "Let's get you to your room before someone else happens by." Orland unfolded from his settled position and stood his full six foot height. Keori accepted the hand Orland offered to boost him to his feet and sighed depressingly when they almost buckled from weakness.

"It might just be easier to tell him straight out you know." Orland commented not unkindly as he steadied Keori. The boy pointedly avoided Orland's sympathetic expression by staring resolutely at his feet.

"No. What would he need with a bastard son?" They lapsed into a companionable silence; Orland settled an inconspicuous hand on Keori's right shoulder. As the two men ambled further down the hall, toward Keori's bedchamber, neither detected the soft shift of cloth as someone turned the corner at the opposite end of the hall.

OH! CAUTION: I do not have anything against Japanese people (obviously, this is anime based so THANX you wonderful JAPANESE people! ^.~) or Vietnamese people in accordance with the derogatory remarks used in this chapter. The name-calling was that of a drunken xenophobic moron. I in no way intended to offend or upset anyone by it so please refrain from flaming me. Thanx!

* * *

DEDICATED to Anonymous

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Chapter song: Freedom by Wynonna (Nashville Prince of Egypt CD)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Chapter 22: Prophet under Suspicion**

Keori sighed in annoyance, '_God, I'm so bored!_' The tousle-haired teen flopped back onto his unmade bed, grimacing slightly as his almost healed cuts itched irritatingly. The sheets twisted about him in disarray, but Keori could not muster up the energy to put it to rights. Scratching at his bare chest he stared despondently at the ceiling. '_Of all the punishments, why did it have to be confinement?_' Keori groused inwardly. The leather trousers from the past two days felt constricting after another fitful night's sleep. One pant-leg rode up to mid-calf, causing Keori immense irritation, though his apathetic state rendered him incapable of remedying the discomfort. With a prolonged groan he curled into a miserable ball clasping his knees to his chest.

He'd already tried pacing. He'd sharpened his sword to such a fine point that any more and the blade would split hair, lengthwise. Clothes mending had entered his mind briefly until a peek in his drawers proved the servants were very proficient and expeditious in their duties. The room itself was far too small to practice his katas or even to exercise lightly. The best he could do was stretch his muscles and that became old, real fast. With nothing to occupy his time Keori was left glancing hopefully toward the door in the off chance that company would appear if he stared long enough.

Teo had been transferred to a new room and hadn't returned, not even to offer some modicum of support or company. Keori tried to rationalize that Teo had his work cut out for him without having to cater to a house-bound teenager. That idea wasn't even counting the high probability that Keori's visitors were being refused entrance to his room by the guard outside his door. Keori simply resigned himself to his lonely detention. Solitary confinement had nothing on him; he'd been alone for the majority of his life if not physically then emotionally. 'Yeah, right, who am I kidding?' Keori huffed despondently.

Just as Keori let out another frustrated moan the door-knob jiggled noisily. Keori perked up. The slab of wood opened a crack and sound permeated the stifling prison, er...room.

"No, that moron! He's such a ditz...No, don't worry about...Katlin, I'll take care of it!" said an exasperated voice, followed by, "Yeah, I'll be right there, hold on a sec." A bobbed head of coffee brown hair popped into the room closely followed by a body balancing a covered tray in arms. The guard at the door frowned at the maid and grunted a blunt, "No visitors," confirming Keori's earlier suspicions.

Keori made an annoyed sound deep in his throat; it was just a maid with his allotted breakfast. It took a great deal of self-control to sprawl lazily across the bed instead of kick and scream out his aggravation. Oblivious to the stir-crazy boy, the maid focused an annoyed stare onto the grumpy guard.

"Do I look like a visitor? He's being confined to his room, not the dungeons. The last I checked house-bound guests aren't starved," dismissing him altogether, the maid then faced Keori, "Mr. Kan, I've brought your..." the girl trailed off and promptly blushed three shades of puce. Keori raised a mocking eyebrow; the servant-girl began to stutter. "I-I apologize! I d-didn't, I mean, I-I was n-not aware you were i-indecent," her eyes widened into saucers, "I meant indisposed! I'm sorry!" she squeaked at last and lowered her head in utter embarrassment. Taking pity on the mortified maiden who now refused to look above his bare feet, Keori levered himself out of bed and retrieved the tray.

"That's quite all right. Thank you...I don't believe I had the pleasure of knowing your name?"

"Reika, sir." the maid whispered shyly.

"Thank you, Reika." Keori intoned with forced gentleness.

Reika quickly bowed and excused herself from his room. As the door closed softly behind her, Keori could hear Katlin inquire why Reika took so long. The next exchange was indecipherable through the door, but Katlin's shrill exclamation gave Keori some idea what had been said. Frowning ruefully, Keori turned his attention to the provided tray. The unveiling proved plentiful. Warmed ham on eggs over-easy with sides of linked sausage and several pieces of toasted bread glazed with buttery fat graced the plates. A small pitcher accompanying the miniature feast held warm, creamy milk. Keori desired very much to throw the whole lot into the face of his guard. Perhaps he wasn't considered a prisoner officially, but that did not change the fact that he felt like one. Alas, he merely poured some milk into the accompanying mug and sipped infrequently as he began to pace restlessly.

~*~*~

It was a few moments, long after his mug was emptied, before Keori acknowledged the fidgety movement and realized he'd also been tugging on his ear in agitation. With a low growl the insubordinate bastard son flung himself back onto his bed; he barely missed bashing his head on the low-hanging side of the bunk above. The mug was promptly discarded somewhere to the floor, the earthenware making a dull thunk as it landed. Keori's eyes slid sideways toward his breakfast; he gave into hunger, and snagged a slice of glazed ham. Thoroughly peeved with the turnout of the banquet, Keori ruminated on the conflict between him and his father while he nibbled on the meat distractedly.

He wondered first, and foremost, what he could have done to prevent the present situation he found himself in. There was only one way that Keori could see a possibly different turnout occurring. '_But, there was no way I would've let Orland take the fall!_' Keori snarled silently and smacked a tightly balled fist into his pillow. He was just so tired of fighting with that stubborn man! And, he was tired of thinking about it too! Keori concluded that his mother had been completely insane and that was all there was to it. Van was an asshole and there was no changing the facts.

Keori collapsed onto his back and folded one arm behind his head as he licked greasy fingers clean. Thoughts of his mother and the many Gaea centered bedtime stories filled his head. Feeling nostalgic, Keori reached an arm under the bed and felt around for the coarse material of his duffle. He frowned as his hand came into contact with dust motes, spider webs, and things he'd rather not try to identify, but a smile cracked his lips when his search met with success. Sitting up and hauling the duffle out of its hidey hole brought on a bout of sneezing and a cloud of dust particles. Keori ignored his watery eyes and waved a hand, trying ineffectually to disperse the cloaking dust. The sky blue color of the bag had faded into a dirty brown after being hauled across Gaea and through the woods during those first few harrowing days. Keori ignored the filth, only uninterestedly patting the grime off in sparse patches before turning down the zipper. Inside laid a single rolled up shirt, which was being used to protect the glass encased feather from shattering should the bag be mishandled. Beside that lay a dark crystalline sphere that was the drag energist and a beat-up and tattered looking book without a title.

It was the book which Keori sought. Gingerly, as if the sheaf of paper bound within was as delicate and treasured as ancient Egyptian papyrus, Keori removed the book and settled it in his Indian-style lap. One hand ghosted over the golden-tan, age-stained cover reverently before it grasped the lid and slowly flipped it open to the first entry. Before he turned to the neat scrawl on the first page, Keori's eyes were draw to the inside cover. Situated on the back of the cover was an age-softened piece of paper, a fading photograph of Hitomi Kanzaki cradling a giggling toddler in her arms. The colors had all but washed out into dull shades of brown but for the tint of green in their eyes and the red shirt young Keori wore. His mother was sitting in a chair with her face curved downward looking upon the child in her arms. Young Keori was squirming and laughing in utter delight as his mother's elegant fingers tickled his sides. Keori reached down to trace the happy lines of his mother's face, smiling sadly without allowing a touch of bitterness to coat his memories. And, wistfully, he read...

_My Dearest Keori, _

_Strangely I found myself starring through a storefront window on my way home today. I was compelled to buy this journal which oddly reminds me of a man who once met my grandmother, a man from a distant world. However, that is a story needs rendering another time. For now I sit here watching you, my darling son. Lord, can it have been four years already since I was graced with you? You're sitting there, dutifully at your piano instructor's side, patiently plucking out the notes as he offers gentle encouragement. _

"_He has the hands, pianist hands." I recall him saying as he held your rough little hands within his the first time you met. _

_I can't help but laugh tenderly as I remember how aghast he was upon discovering that you were involved with swordsmanship. Oh, the row we had outside the apartment that evening while you lay sleeping peacefully in bed! I was so afraid he would refuse to teach you unless you relinquished your sword lessons; which we both know you couldn't live without. _

"_But, his hands!" Riuden-Sensei had cried. Ever so worried, was he, that you'd break your delicate fingers. I was always more worried you would chop them clean off, or worse, the whole hand!_

Keori noticed a smudge in the page and could clearly visualize his mother wiping at tears of worry even as she smiled benignly at him across the room. He, of course, would have remained oblivious as he had his back turned to her at the piano. His mother had always been careful to mask her tears behind a kind smile and reassuring words. Never a day went by that Hitomi Kanzaki couldn't handle with a deep breath and a smile. Keori felt tightness in his chest and took a deep breath before continuing.

_I can recall your first lesson with Kobaiyashi-Sensei. You had blatantly refused to use a child's bokken, insisting that you be given an adult's practice blade. I cannot attempt to describe how ridiculous you appeared at two years of age ordering around a man six decades older than you! I laugh just thinking on it. You could barely lift the adult bokken on the rack. I was so mortified, I went to scold you, but Kobaiyashi-Sensei shook his head in that silent way of his. _

"_Do not try to dissuade his warrior spirit. He knows his arduous path and it is his destiny to follow it." He sounded so impressed with your confidence that I relented. So, you learned the hard way to wield a sword twice your size. You are your father's son. _Keori scoffed and read on._ How you looked so much like him too, standing poised to parry a blow. Perhaps Van was not as clumsy as you, but that is slowly improving with time. _

_Van and I met when we were still yet children. It saddens me, the carnage, the bloodlust, and the utter devastation Van suffered during the war. And, there I was, a silly girl, right in the thick of things. Unconsciously I was responsible for much of the heinous events that transpired. But, at the end of it all, I felt somehow grown and mature beyond my years. We'd made it out alive and I could not imagine not loving your father. That night, your father and I fumbled our way through the consecration of our love. How foolish I was to think we were adults and ready for such symbolic acts of devotion. We were nothing more than blushing virgins suffering from misguided notions of maturity. But, I digress. _

_I'm sure you are not interested in reading about such instances involving your own mother. _Keori laughed, that was just like mother!_ Needless to say, the passion for life that war leaves in its wake, to those who survive, is elating and intoxicating and too often flawed. Do not misunderstand me, my precious gift. I loved your father deeply, I still do, but I had given up something very valuable that night. I could never go back to being Hitomi Kanzaki, high school track star and infatuated schoolgirl. I had perpetually changed my very life; I was no longer allowed to be childish and self-indulgent. My very existence revolved around someone else for the first time in my life. I can only wonder if the same happened to Van, for he could not have been endowed nine months later with you. _

_All truth be told, not a day goes by that I regret that special evening with Van. In fact, I would not give up that one cherished night for a lifetime in Gaea without you. The reason is simple; you fill my empty world with laughter. While I cannot have the pleasure of my love, my soul mate, here with me, I still have a piece of him, of us. You embody our love for each other and I will be eternally grateful for your existence. Watching you grow into your own beautiful person is one of my greatest pleasures, and giving birth to you, my greatest achievement. _

_Unequivocally Yours,_

_Hitomi Kanzaki_

As Keori finished reading the last line there was a knock on the door. The startled boy quickly slapped the journal shut, shoved it beneath his pillow, and kicked the duffle bag still on the floor back under the bed. Keori was just giving silent appreciation to any deity listening for bestowing him with the forethought to wrap the glass feather when Marilyn slipped into the room.

"Keori, I thought you...what's wrong! Why are you crying?" Keori blinked and lifted a hand to feel the wetness on his cheeks. '_I'm crying?_' Indeed, wet tracks stretched down his face to soak in his collar and blankets. Before he could answer, Marilyn was sitting beside him on the bed and wiping a cloth against his moist cheeks.

"Princess, that isn't necessary. I'm fine, really." Keori took her hands in his as his voice soothed her harried gestures.

"No you're not. How could you be? Locked up in your room and denied visitors." Marilyn exclaimed, anxiously twisting the square of linen in her hands.

"Which reminds me, how did you get visitation rights?" Keori wiped away the remaining moisture with his arm and glanced at his concealing pillow.

"I happen to be a princess! No guard is going to tell me what I can and cannot do." Marilyn stated haughtily. Keori gave her a weary smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"I was under the impression that the orders were issued by his majesty. And, if memory serves, a king outranks a princess any day." Marilyn had the decency to flush scarlet and drop her gaze. "I'm serious Marilyn. As much as I appreciate your company and support, I do not wish you any trouble on account of me." Keori gave the wayward royal a hard stare.

"But!" Marilyn opened her mouth to protest.

"You are as much of a guest as I am. It would not take much for his Majesty to lose his temper and brand you some kind of cohort! I know he would not do something as drastic as imprison you, but he might just decide to send you home! Is that what you want?" Keori yelled in exasperation. Tears sprang to Marilyn's eyes and Keori realized belatedly that he was squeezing her shoulders quite painfully. With a self-disgusted grunt Keori released her and stalked to the opposite side of the room to put some space between them.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry you're being punished for doing the right thing! I'm sorry you have to bear this in silence. It must be so difficult for you, knowing that you aren't trusted by the ones you love, and you can't even tell him the truth." Marilyn whispered as more crystalline drops fell across her lap and the twisted bedspread.

Keori stilled and tensed like a bowstring in the closed doorway. Sounds of laughter and shuffling steps murmured through the door. The guard was talking boisterously with another guard about bothersome girls; it was obviously a shift change. Keori felt his breath whoosh from paralyzed lungs; he hadn't even been aware that he'd held his breath.

"Keori, I-I'm sorry. I saw you...in the hall." Marilyn spoke softly into her lap as if fearful of his reaction. Keori slowly turned to her, a tortured expression on his face. Marilyn sat demurely among his messy sheets with her voluptuous bullion skirt pooling around her. Blond tresses of hair fell like a curtain around her head obscuring her expression. Transparent tears dropped intermittently to splash onto clenched hands or to soak into colorful material.

"How much do you know?" Keori's voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible. Marilyn raised her glistening eyes and trembling lips into his view, but it was Keori's turn to curve his face away in shame.

"A-All of it, I think," Marilyn sagged noticeably, "I know who your father is and that you see things you shouldn't be able to. I know you're from...from a far off place I could never go." Marilyn sighed and sniffled a bit. Keori echoed the sigh.

"I see." Keori approached the bed. Leaning over, he took the crinkled cloth from her hands and dabbed the tears from her eyes. Marilyn met his gaze miserably.

"A-Are you angry with me?"

"No, no. I'm not angry with you." Slowly, Keori traced the edge of her jaw with the dampened handkerchief, guiding her face upward before he tenderly tucked her hair behind her ears. '_She's rather pretty when she's crying_.' Keori thought quietly. Marilyn appeared to be one of those rare people who could cry without getting blotchy cheeks or a horribly runny nose. In fact, the swimming wetness in her eyes made them more luminous and beautiful, like little jewels. '_Sapphires...they're like sapphires_.' Keori noted pensively.

Belatedly Keori realized he'd unconsciously leaned down towards Marilyn who continued to gaze up at him with fragile gemstone eyes. In order to prevent himself from doing something inappropriate and unpardonable Keori dropped his hands. He only allowed himself to briefly squeeze the girl's hand as he pressed the handkerchief to her palm before he was backing away in retreat. Marilyn looked confused and at the same time distinctly disappointed.

"I still don't understand. Why won't you tell him?" Keori slumped into the single rigid chair present and conveniently as far from the bed as possible.

"Don't try to understand it. Sometimes I haven't a clue either." Keori mumbled gloomily. "Gah, sometimes I just want to climb up to the roof and scream it at the top of my lungs." Keori threw back his head and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. When his eyes slid sideways to Marilyn the girl was standing and straightening her skirts. She didn't appear the least perturbed, quite the contrary. It was a radical change that Keori immediately associated with royalty who are required to put on a brave face for their subjects against all odds.

"Well, perhaps that is what you should do then. Personally, I can't see any other method actually sinking through his very thick skull," Marilyn's eyes scrutinized Keori uncomfortably, "You know. I don't see how we could have overlooked the resemblance. You're just as fetching as your father and siblings." Keori bowed his head as a blush suffused his cheeks. A negligent shrug accompanied his silence.

~*~*~

The moment of silence stretched onward. Keori could hear some sort of commotion begin outside of his door but was too introverted to care. Marilyn stood awkwardly, folding one hand over the other and then repeating the nervous gesture in reverse order. Keori noted from the safety of his fringe of hair that Marilyn tended to gnaw on her bottom lip when she was nervous.

"Very well, I believe I'll leave you to your brooding..." Marilyn announced hastily, making her way to the door at precisely the same moment it opened to admit Duke Freid.

"What the hell is going on here? Princess Marilyn, you know full well that Mr. Kan is not permitted to have guests. And you, Mr. Kan; I am astounded that you would allow her Highness to remain in this room, you being ridiculously exposed as you are. It is not permissible for a young man and woman to be alone in each other's company without proper escort! I had higher expectations of you Mr. Kan, after all I've heard of your heroic feats." Chid glowered darkly toward Keori still slumped bare-chested in his uncomfortable chair.

"It isn't his fault! I used my rank to gain access to his rooms and Keori has been nothing but a gentleman towards me!" Marilyn shouted earnestly. Chid's fierce eyes pierced Marilyn to the spot.

"That isn't what the castle servants and staff are saying," at Marilyn's mortified expression Chid nodded tightly, "Yes, you didn't know how I came to find out where you were, did you?" Keori flinched slightly and sent a fleeting look of apology toward Marilyn. The princess appeared to be fighting a new wave of tears.

"Well, that was one of the grossest displays of male condescension I have ever witnessed. I'll thank you not to speak to me again on such matters." Marilyn managed to choke out with all the dignity she could muster. It was Chid's turn to wince and make vain placating gestures because Marilyn was already sweeping thorough the door. Keori opened his mouth to call out to Marilyn when the rippling of her golden dress around the doorframe called to mind an entirely different and unreservedly more urgent scene. Chid's brash voice liquefied into a dull roar all around him and the room expanded into a brightly lit camp in a clearing among massive redwoods.

* * *

Undulating banners of crisp golden silk twisted and fluctuated on their long staffs. The fluttering created an ephemeral reality to the emerald dragons embellished in the center of each streamer. There was hardly any wind to generate such oscillation which could only indicate the movement of the flag-bearer. He was astride a large war-steed flanked by two others. He was sweating profusely under gleaming armor and squinting toward the glaring spikes of white tents in the green glade. Keori felt a gusting sigh issue forth from lungs that sounded like the bellows of a glass work shop.

"Ay, wha's it Keryon?" Keori turned to his companion rider who was also decked out in full body armor. The robust man had a roughly bearded face that was ruddy from long days in the sun. His eyes were beady little black pits that pierced their target much like a dagger would. Despite the rather roguish and unkempt look about him Keori felt no animosity or fear of the man.

"'Tisn't anythin' Jor." Keori heard himself reply gruffly.

"If'n tha's what yeh say." Jor allowed skeptically with the shake of his head. Keryon did not reply.

Together with the third companion they rode down the small incline toward the encampment. The guards at the edge of the settlement were two granite-figured fellows who singularly nodded welcome. With a slight hand gesture, the third nameless follower broke away from the group, adhering to some preexisting duties most likely.

"Back a'ready, Keryon, sir?" an equally scruffy and dangerous looking man glanced up from a disassembled guymelef core and hail them with an accompanying wicked grin. Keryon gave a dismissive snort that had Jor chuckling darkly next to him.

"Were you hoping I'd fail Hardorn?" Keryon inquired in a wondering tone as if talking to himself, such was his distain for the filthy man. Hardorn sneered but deigned not to provoke the obviously superior man.

"We go." Jor stated abruptly, but as the two riders gained a significant distance from Hardorn he leaned toward Keryon. "Yeh know 'tisn't fittin' tah goad the poor sap." Jor grinned maliciously.

"That cur deserves every bit of scorn he gets. The bastard prays daily that I miss a mark so he can take possession of Predator." Keryon tipped his head in acknowledgement to a fellow who shouted out a greeting. Jor raised a hand in salutation and they continued on.

"A futile effort in anyone's estimation," Jor rejoined.

They passed huddles of men preparing an assortment of weapons and cleaning those sullied by blood and gore, results of a job well done. Greetings were tossed their way, but for the most part the grounded men were somber and focused on their individual tasks. The air was tense, preparations were underway. The two scouts pulled up to a separate, slightly larger, tent bearing the dragon insignia on the door-flaps. A surprisingly clean-shaven and genteel-looking man pushed aside the door-flap and approached Keryon and Jor. Without preamble, dropping down from his horse, Keryon pulled open his pack.

"It was as we were informed. The defenses will be down come this time, two days from now." Keryon reached into his pack and Keori's eyes glanced over the bejeweled serpent with ruby eyes dying by way of dagger tattooed on his upper arm.

* * *

The vision swirled away and the real world wrenched itself into place. Suddenly Keori was back in his room with Chid busily lecturing him on his station relative to Princess Marilyn's. Apparently, being slumped and non-attentive did nothing in the way of detouring Chid from voicing his opinion. Therefore, it must have been quite a shock when Keori unexpectedly burst from his chair, shoved Duke Freid brutally against his dresser, flung the door open and darted out.

"Hey!" shouted the frozen guard in sheer astonishment. While Chid painfully picked himself up off the floor, it took the stunned guard and full three seconds to make motions toward going after the fleeing boy. Those three seconds cost him. Keori was already dashing around the corner in full momentum almost slamming himself into the cold stone walls.

"What the hell are you waiting for man?! Follow him!" Chid barked from behind, rubbing at his jarred elbow irritably. The guard didn't need telling twice but it was obvious that the hulking man, whose bulk was good for blocking doorways, had little by way of speed and stamina. Chid growled and followed after, angrier with his lapse in vigilance than with the escapee, quickly outdistancing the puffing guard.

Keori sprinted down the halls screaming for people to get out of his way and bellowing for Orland. Startled servants dropped cutlery, laundry, trashcans, and various other oddities in their mad dash to get out of the lunatic's path. Doors that opened into Keori's passage were promptly shut on the face of whoever was on the opposite side.

"Oi! Where're you going?" a passing guard snagged Keori by the wrist and promptly found himself prostrate on his back and wheezing something awful.

"Stop him! Keori Kan, halt where you are!" Keori spared a single glance over his shoulder to see Chid at the end of the hall and gaining. The half-naked boy redoubled his efforts, his feet making harsh slapping noises against the bare stone floor. An almost irrational fear was gripping Keori by the heart. He had to see Orland immediately! Flying around the bend and scraping his shoulder nastily against the stones brought Keori barreling into another figure with a sickening thud. They both fell to the ground with grunts and curses of pain.

"**Orland**!" Keori screamed even as he scrambled desperately to his feet. He barely perceived Allen staring incredulously at him from the ground before he was tearing down the corridor, only now with a reckless hop-skip-limp action.

"Kan!" Chid cried out, having gained even more ground during Keori's collision. Allen was just dusting himself off and staring after Keori when the duke came into view.

"What **is** going on?" Allen demanded loping beside Chid by virtue of necessity, for the later would not stop in his wild pursuit. Keori was already winding the final bend to the outer court; in the face of his haste his luck gave way and he smashed full-force into the stone wall. A shocked sound escaped Allen's lips as, horrified, they watched Keori pick himself up from the ground and totter out the door.

"I have no idea what's come over the boy. He's lost his mind!" Chid huffed out without pausing in the chase.

Keori could feel the blood running down the side of his face where it had met with stone. His ears were ringing from the impact and he couldn't focus properly. Sweat mingled with the blood from his various cuts making them sting and itch. Bruises were beginning to appear as large blotches against his sullied skin and as deep aches within. Coppery blood filled Keori's mouth and lined the inside of his lips from where he'd bit down against the pain in his twisted ankle. If Keori could have seen himself at that precise moment he would've agreed that he appeared downright demented, but as it was, he could only focus on the urgent foreboding goading him on.

"**Orland**!" Keori screamed hoarsely, limping and stumbling into the practice courtyard. His ankle gave way, sending Keori sprawling into the dirt. A frantic struggle followed where Keori managed to get his agonized limb back under him just as Chid and Allen appeared on the scene.

"Keori, I thought you were castle-bound?" one nosy guard Keori often sparred with intercepted his path. Keori didn't think twice about shoving his fist into the interfering bastard's face. The blow connected and sent both men crumpling to the ground.

"Stay back! **Orland**!" Keori shrieked persistently, waving off those who would try to help him to his feet.

"Keori, calm down. Whatever it is that's going on can be settled inside. If you would just..." Allen held up placating hands and approached Keori's fraught form.

"**No**! Get back or I'll knock your head in Schezar." Keori's much abused voice was reduced to a rasping growl but the threat was backed by the livid intent burning brightly in Keori's jaded eyes. Allen frowned but backed away with his hands still raised.

"Someone find the Weapons Master straight away and have him come here." Allen ordered firmly not taking his eyes off of Keori, not for a moment. Something was clearly wrong to have such an adverse effect on the usually imperturbable and contained Keori Kan. Allen had watched Keori kill a man without batting an eye and yet here the boy sat like a cornered animal lashing out at anyone who dared approach.

"No need Schezar, I am here." the crowd parted way for the formidable figure.

Orland drew near the scene taking it all in. All the guards were gathered round in a circle with Keori in the spotlight center. Allen Schezar, Knight Caeli, was backing away from the boy with both hands up and both eyes locked on the hissing hellcat. The Duke of Freid stood at the sidelines making Orland wonder at his involvement. The Weapons Master could not see how Keori and Chid came about interacting but he was sure going to find out. As for Keori, Orland's eyes fell upon the boy who even now strained to make purchase on the dirt.

Orland's frown deepened when he noticed the swelling ankle the color of overripe blackberries. The foot attached was raked raw after running over and sliding against stones and rough terrain. Bruises adorned several places of Keori's body but mostly his legs and arms. Mostly-healed cuts on his back were peppered with newer scrapes of little consequence. On the other hand, the whole left side of Keori's body was scraped and bleeding sluggishly as if he'd rubbed sideways across sandpaper. The left side of the boy's face was the worst because it appeared that damage had been done to the head and ear. Orland grimaced at the dried blood along Keori's lips and noted the self-inflicted injury. Keori, for his part, remained silent while Orland scrutinized his battered state, but the minute the Weapons Master's attention turned he was staggering forward and gripping Orland's shirtfront to keep his balance.

"This," Keori transferred his hold to Orland's arm, where his snake tattoo was, "Where did you get this?" Keori demanded urgently in a hissing undertone. Orland looked into the boy's eyes to see a deadly grave concentration fixed unwaveringly on his expression.

"You've **seen** something, haven't you?" Orland discerned nearly inaudibly. Keori's grip tightened exponentially on Orland's arm, practically cutting off the blood flow to his hand. The guards around the perimeter shuffled nervously at the scene, unable to hear a word the two exchanged. Allen scowled in displeasure at being excluded and was mirrored by Chid who felt duty-bound to toss Keori back into his comfortable prison.

"Just tell me!" Keori pleaded anxiously. Orland could detect the seriousness behind Keori's quest and lowered his lips to Keori's undamaged ear in order to keep his answer strictly between them.

"The mercenary band I traveled with used this tattoo as a marker of their kind." Orland whispered grimly.

Keori tensed, instantly released his grip on Orland and shoved away toward the castle.

"Keori, wait!" Orland ordered sternly, gripping Keori's shoulder in one hand as if to turn him about face. Keori jerked away from the larger man's grasp and knocked away the consecutive attempt at grabbing him. Orland's hold faltered off the sweat-slicked body that eluded him and Keori went careening out of the circle. Every effort to clasp the boy resulted in failure, many bruises and broken noses. Allen and Chid didn't bother to try restraining the boy; they made their way inside, Orland leading the way. Keori was flat out running on his sprained ankle in order to outdistance the three, but it was a futile effort. Within minutes Orland and Allen were reaching out to steady the faltering fighter.

"No, I-I must get an audience...with the King!" Keori gasped out distraughtly.

"You aren't going to get there on your own steam; let us help you." Orland bid calmly.

"Why do I get the feeling that you know what is truly going on here?" Allen inquired with a raised brow even as he slung Keori's other arm over his shoulder. Keori practically dangled between the two taller men. The pace slowed a bit to where people walking by didn't have to throw themselves out of harms way, but the walk was still brisk. Any slower and Keori would be shoving off them in his impatience to get to Van's throne room. Chid looked sideways at Orland's silence. Allen sighed, a rare show of his aggravation, but didn't force the issue.

"Whatever this is, it better be important." Chid grumbled crossly.

~*~*~

The very second they reached the double doors Keori dropped from their sides and lurched forward. Orland and Allen both reacted immediately to try and prevent him from falling but Keori would have none of it. One of the confused guards was most taken aback when Keori used him as leverage to keep his balance and open the chamber door. Then Keori was limping unsteadily into the audience chamber being shadowed by three affluent men. There was not an immediate change upon Keori's entrance. Like usual, men were capitulating over different laws and privileges. Documents were being drafted, filed, copied, passed back and forth, and read in loud discordant voices. And, there was his father, overseeing all the proceedings with shrewd eyes. It was **his** booming voice that drew attention to Keori's presence in the chamber.

"What do **you** think you are doing here? Have I not declared your presence an eye-sore?" Van shouted furiously, pointing at Keori in the midst of the reigning chaos. Everyone froze in place. Silence descended. Keori's honor-guard shuffled restlessly in uncertainty.

"**Fanelia is in danger**! Mercenaries **will attack** in **two days** time!" Keori hollered into the forbidding silence.

* * *

**Chapter 23: Enemy at the Gate**

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Chapter Song: In the End by Linkin Park

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

All those military books...are filled with stories about great battles and great soldiers...They talk about strategy and planning, make war sound like a chess game. And they're all wrong. Those books don't tell you anything about war. They don't tell you what it's like squeeze a trigger and then watch some guy your own age in another uniform fall down dead."

[Lorenzo Carcaterra from _Street Boys_]

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

~*~ Late Afternoon (Day 3) ~*~

From overhead a thunderous rumble sounded; the ground trembled in ominous reply. Keori could practically taste the cloud of dust particles as they were dislodged from above; resulting from slabs of rough hewn rock compressing together in abrupt violence. The cough that escaped his lips rattled in his lungs and sent tremors throughout his long numbed body. Another rumble, closer to the report of a large cannon, resonated within the confined space and sent Keori's ears ringing. The ceiling buckled dangerously, whole chunks of stone broke away to fall erringly like hail. Keori raised his filth encrusted arms over his head—for what little protection they could offer—and tried to scuttle closer to the wall. The effort was nominal.

Keori's numbed legs knocked together in floppy disarray, refusing to cooperate. Keori was only left with his paltry flesh shield and the hope that, should a rock fall, his arms would prevent it from braining him. Cranial matter would do nothing to improve the aesthetic value of his prison. Hunched over him self, Keori did not manage to escape unscathed. Two chunks managed to strike him. One the size of a small fist cracked smartly against his left shoulder causing Keori to cry out. The second, a larger, jagged slab approximately the size and weight of a steel girder slammed down on Keori's right, slightly bent, knee, pinning him. Keori's vision swam and his breath escaped him all at once. Before he could draw breath to scream his vision blacked out completely. Echoes of the battle continued to rage above him.

~*~ Two Days Prior (Day 1) ~*~

The cast iron door slammed home with a clangor that rang among the hollow corridors. Keori watched dispassionately, in the dusty half-light that cast a grotesque sallowness on all present, as one guard locked the cage and another eyed him distrustfully.

"That should hold 'im, the bastard traitor." Keori's jailer intoned nastily with a malicious sneer in Keori's direction. When no reaction was forthcoming the guard spat a stream of saliva at Keori's face. He didn't budge an inch, not even as he lost sight of the guards, only the sharp cadence of their steps echoing back to him. Not until complete silence settled like a cloak about him did he shift to grasp the unforgiving bars and lean his forehead flush against cool metal, sighing gustily.

"What have you gotten yourself into now?" Keori queried sorrowfully into the vast emptiness, wiping away the offending discharge from his cheek. Apparently there weren't many prisoners given the dubious pleasure of occupying these cells.

Keori groaned, knocked his head halfheartedly against the unyielding metal, and slid listlessly to the filth encrusted floor. His many injuries protested the movement; the guards hadn't even bothered to slap a poultice on them. Slowly Keori's eyes tracked the smears of dirt and grime to the bare matting that spawned from a murky and dank corner. The ratty mess couldn't truly be identified as matting given the sheer lack of similarity to one. Keori could only deduce its original form from the severed remains spewing forth in abundance. Moldy straw scattered the near vicinity and poked exorbitantly from the vandalized remains. Keori grimaced as his nose filled with the smells that unerringly found their way into compounds such as this. Moldy straw, human excrement, vomit, stale beer, and sweat hung cloyingly to the musty space. Keori drew his legs up to his smarting chest and closed his eyes against the harsh environment.

He'd thought his barracks room was confining; this place would drive him psychotic within days. Lucky for him, Keori's prophecy was on a deadline. His stubborn father would see sense and Keori would be released from the dungeons. At least, Keori hoped the truth of his foresight would gain his freedom. '_Who knows how father will react when he hears of the marching army. Hell, he may keep me locked up as a conspirator or, even worse, for vindictive pleasure_.' Keori hung his head upon his up-drawn knees and recalled his mad dash into that bustling chamber a mere candle mark ago. How furious his father had been.

* * *

"**Fanelia is in danger**! Mercenaries **will attack** in **two days** time!" Keori hollered into the forbidding silence. Immediately several of the dignitaries scoffed and began making sneering comments. Others, assistants and ambassadors from neighboring countries who had restricted attendance to the legislating hall or were not present during the fiasco at the feast respectively, began muttering apprehensively. Still others stared incredulously at Keori's ghastly appearance. Through all of this Keori kept his wavering gaze on his father to gauge his reaction.

Van was furious.

"What are you on about boy?" the condescension was ripe in the gnashed out epithet. The fluttering of the hall petered out and all eyes riveted on the bleeding and bruised diversion. It was plain to see that not one of these people took Keori seriously; even those whose original reaction was concern were now taking their cues from the most notable delegates. The most notable delegates being men like Lord Rethwellan and Dedrick Dumont who both supported the idea of Keori as foolish boy or potential spy.

"**Listen** to me!" Keori shouted and fisted his hands in exasperation, "There is a band of mercenaries in the woods not two days ride from here!" Keori flung an arm in the general direction of the outlaying farms. "They plan to attack Fanelia the day after tomorrow when the guards are standing down!"

"Don't be obnoxious, boy. You have stirred up quite enough trouble since you arrived." Lord Rethwellan derided nonchalantly. "It is at this point that I would bring to light my intentions of Your Highness reevaluating Mr. Kan's culpability in the murder of Mr. Lucius."

"That's absurd! Kan has already been cleared of those charges; you'd request that His Highness reconsider his own judgment?" Orland roared furiously.

"Of course not, Master Orland. That would be rather supercilious of Lord Rethwellan to suggest, not to mention a touch impertinent. It is in the hands of our king to make such grave decisions, and in ours to accept them." Priest Regis' silver-tongued voice issued from the back of the dais where the thrones rested. Keori couldn't see the dark figure through the crowds but he felt the sudden chill just the same.

"Thank you, Father; you are quite correct." Van agreed in a clipped voice.

Orland's expression darkened exponentially. Allen looked apprehensively between the two and Chid appeared to be struggling to process it all.

"As for you, Mr. Kan. You seem to have a real difficulty with following orders. I recall...quite clearly...banning you from this hall and confining you to your room." Van's tone was glacial and the words were bitten out through clenched teeth. Keori felt his chance to convince his father slipping from his grasp.

"I'm not lying! They have the mark of the green dragon!" Keori's eyes flashed in Orland's direction and their gazes locked. They both knew who the mercs were now.

"Why don't you at least consider what he has to say!" Orland stepped forward only to be held back by Allen resting a preventative hand on his shoulder.

"What do you know that I don't?" Allen demanded hotly beneath his breath.

"If you want lies go to him!" Keori persisted pointing toward the dais. Bodies shifted until there was a path leading straight for Priest Regis. The darkly cloaked man stood beside the queen's throne looking affronted. "He's in league with the mercenaries. I **saw** him! He was i-"

"Father Regis has been one of my most trusted and loyal advisors for a number of years!" Van bellowed and glared fiercely at Orland who he blamed for the accusation. Keori realized belatedly that Regis was the wrong route. He'd just lost any influence that could be gained through Orland who'd had arguments with his father before concerning the priest, but there was nothing for it.

"He was interrogati-" Keori tried, in vain, to impress upon his father what he'd seen in the corridors that night, but he was cut off.

"He is above suspicion!" Van roared directly into Keori's face. "Guards! Guards! Take him to the dungeons and keep him there!" As two guards stepped forward to take hold of him, Keori's emerald gaze met with eyes of steal, Priest Regis' lips curved subtly in triumph.

* * *

Keori could remember Orland protesting as he was being dragged from the chamber. The guards weren't exactly gentle and they made certain he would not escape; Keori had the bruises to show for it. Gripping his black-and-blue arms, he hugged himself as his body began to shiver from the cold. Slowly the laughter bubbled out of him until he was screaming hysterically in mirth. And, even as the sound echoed stridently off the bitter, stone walls, one could see crystalline streaks falling from his down-turned face to the dirt-caked floors below. What had he been thinking? He sure as hell didn't belong here any more than he belonged on earth...he was nothing more than an unwanted bastard...a freak.

~*~ 1 Day Later, Early Evening (Day 2) ~*~

"Hey, dinner!" a nondescript guard shoved a tin plate of congealing stew through the gap between the floor and the metal bottom of the barred door. The plate skittered noisily across the stone until it hit an uneven lip and overturned. The guard guffawed and tossed in a stale piece of bread that became filthy and inedible within moments of touching the floor. Keori didn't acknowledge the man or the unpalatable mess now part of the decor of his cell. He lay in the cleanest corner staring up at the unforgiving grey ceiling. It felt like it was slowly pressing down on him, like the walls were subtly closing in. Keori felt a fluttering in his chest and realized he was hyperventilating. '_God, mother. How can you have wanted this for me?_' Keori curled in upon himself and shut his eyes tightly. Already he'd spent a day and night cooped up in the claustrophobic, contaminated hellhole.

"Why couldn't you have just stayed alive? Why did you have to leave me all alone in these worlds?" Keori queried inaudibly to the voiceless stones.

"What was that? Did you say something traitor?" the second guard demanded belligerently. Keori ignored the man. '_Father's changed; I don't think you'd love him anymore if you knew just how much_.' Keori whispered internally.

"That's right, keep your mouth shut. We don't need any more of your lies you bastard." the guard spit through the bars and glowered. Keori grimaced but remained silent. It was only a matter of time.

~*~ Daybreak (Day 3) ~*~

The candle resting on the guards' table had burned all the way down to the wick and was guttering when it happened. The sun had barely crested the mountains surrounding Fanelia, not that Keori could tell in his windowless penitentiary, but his guards were the same ones from the night before and they had yet to receive breakfast. A loud clap of sound reverberated within the dungeons and had one guard flinching awake and the other jumping to attention in startled surprise. The first guard had been tilting precariously on a chair with his booted feet crossed and resting on a horizontal metal bar of Keori's cell. The subsequent rude awakening sent him falling backward to crack his head smartly against the stone floor.

"What the hell was that!" the guard demanded after a round of scathing curse words. No sooner had the question escaped his lips when another guard came barreling down the corridor looking panicked and not a little distraught. "What the hell is going on?" Guard one barked out before the man fully reached them.

"Fanelia's being attacked!" Immediately the two guards' gazes trained themselves on Keori who sneered in return. The expression looked more tired and resigned than anything. Guard one snorted in disgust and looked to the newcomer expectantly.

"Well? Brief me!" he barked as if the man were a simpleton. Harried and nodding compulsively, the man began to explain the situation.

Apparently someone, Keori suspected Orland, sent messengers to the scouts on the borders with instructions not to come for the festival and subsequent days off. The guards at the borders were told to watch out for a large party of people toting a flag bearing a green dragon. Word finally reached the castle last night, a large procession of guymelefs and warriors had engaged the border guards in battle. By sunrise the convoy was knocking at their gates. Keori was relieved to hear that Fanelian soldiers received ample warning and were already geared up and ready to go to war.

"And we need every available guard at the front! These guys aren't playing around, they're professionals. Tariq suspects they're made up of the bands of raiders that have been attacking the borders these past few months."

"That doesn't explain the level of organization and the leadership though." Guard two pointed out logically.

"The mercs from the Zaibach wars are leading them." Silence descended on the small group. The two prison guards shared a meaningful look.

"Those guys never did put down their swords; they'll still have the killer mentality," Guard one gripped his own sword in its scabbard, "What are we waiting for? Let's go help defend Fanelia!" The messenger gave a succinct nod in Keori's direction.

"What of the prisoner?"

"Let the traitor rot in hell. We still don't know how he knew they were coming; he could be on their side just trying to trick us." The man's grip on his sword tightened and a grimace twisted his features. Having dispatched the message, the third guard hurried off again. Keori felt the brief stirrings of hope die in his breast and slumped weakly back against the wall. The combination of damp and untreated wounds made him sick the first night; Keori suspected he might be developing pneumonia by now. With one last jeer in Keori's direction the other two prison guards followed in the third's wake. Keori was left to listen as the battle commenced above.

~*~ Earlier (Day 3) ~*~

Orland was the first to receive word that the army was marching on Fanelia. '_And they're making good time too_.' the ex-mercenary scowled darkly as his eyes distinguished the waving banners against the first light sky. He hadn't expected the border guards to hold them off indefinitely but he had hoped for a bit more warning. There was no helping it; the men would just have to compensate.

"Sir, the men are ready and awaiting your signal." A guard rushed up and stood at attention. Orland noted that he couldn't be a day older than nineteen, the minimum age to join the armed forces. The age limit was established after the war; this was probably the boy's first week of the probation period. '_What a rude awakening this will be. I wonder if he'll still want to be in the forces after today_.' The boy cleared his throat nervously but Orland continued to look over the horizon, which was only now beginning to lighten in preparation for dawn.

"Sir?" Orland broke from his musings and focused battled honed eyes on the boy who suddenly looked unsure of himself, "Y-Your orders, Sir?"

"Tell them to head them off. I must apprise His Majesty of the situation." The boy's vigor returned and he eagerly took off to prove himself. '_Don't get yourself killed, kid_." Orland projected the mental order though it remained unvoiced.

"How long do you suppose it'll take for them to reach the gates?" Old man Tariq's voice was not wholly unexpected. Orland took the time to seriously consider the question before turning to face the man.

"The first shots will sound before the sun peeks over the mountains. If they are being run by the mercenaries those who can't keep up will be left behind. If I know them as well as I think I do, they'll all keep up." It was a sobering thought. Tariq nodded sagely, being one of the select few who knew Orland's past history.

Orland ran a broad calloused hand over his age worn features and sighed. When he'd left the organization by killing his backup he'd never planned to see any of them again. But now they were bringing the fight to him and he had much more to lose than a simple payoff.

"I suppose the kid was telling the truth then," Orland didn't think for a second that Tariq had doubted Keori, "Makes me wonder how Lord Van will react." With those parting words, the oldest guard clapped Orland on the shoulder and headed off to join the troops heading out to face the enemy. Orland watched the old man's retreating back, wishing him safety in the upcoming battle. Tariq was an old hand at war, having lived it in his age of wisdom, after the age when young men believe themselves invincible. Orland sort of viewed Tariq as the father he'd lost, or in the very least a comrade he could seek guidance from and confide in. Shaking his head and lamenting the end of peace, Orland made his way inside. Van would be far from pleased.

~*~*~

"What? You told the guards…After I told you…" Van could not seem to get his words past the anger strangling in his throat. The king had only just tossed off his bed sheets and looked stunningly ridiculous standing nearly in the buff and clenching his hands in anger. The eyes that speared Orland were alight with irritation from being awakened and fury at Orland's hurried explanation. Orland had not even gotten to the main reason he was there.

"What does it matter now? Listen to yourself! Van, we are under attack!" Orland overstepped protocol, grabbed the once young king by the shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes. "Are you telling me that my obeying your orders is more important to you than your own people?" Orland's eyes held such wintry expectation that Van recognized it for the promise of death most witnesses never lived to tell about. The message finally seemed to register in Van's sleep fogged mind. Fanelia would burn again…unless he did something about it.

"What are you doing? What has already been done?" Van was instantly in the role of King with all the responsibility that entailed. Quickly he drew on his clothes, throwing on what was available within reach without regard to fashion or cleanliness. It did not matter; at the end of the day his clothes would be filthy with sweat, dirt, and the blood of many. Orland talked all the while, telling Van about his standing orders of attack and filling in his king on other pertinent details. Neither man noticed the suspiciously empty bed, and it wasn't until they passed through the doorway that Orland turned unforgiving eyes to Van.

"Keori Kan was telling the truth, and you wouldn't listen to him."

~*~ Right After Sunrise (Day 3) ~*~

Keori hadn't been alone for long before he heard footsteps pounding their way down the dank corridor towards his cell. He managed, just barely, to gain his feet and make his unsteady way to the metal bars. Searching the hall, he could only make out a dull silhouetted figure running towards him. The overhead lights of the prison corridor were long since knocked out, within minutes after the battle commenced in fact. Keori craned his neck, but it wasn't any use. He would have to wait for the person to come to him; clearly there was only one destination for anyone touring the dungeons.

"Keori, they're here." Orland's voice preceded his arrival to a position where Keori could recognize him visually.

"I know; the guards just left." Keori rasped out, gripping the bars of his cell as the tension in the air intensified. Overhead, the dull rumblings that started just before dawn were growing louder as the mercenary army came ever closer to the keep. Orland nodded almost inattentively, the motion practically invisible in the near pitch darkness. He'd figured Keori would know when the enemy arrived, Keori was psychic after all.

"Your father's leading the second wave. I'll join him momentarily."

"I'll help, let me out of here." Keori ordered more evenly than he'd thought he could. The cough that issued on the tail end of his words negated the effect completely. Keori could practically feel Orland's skeptical look. The dungeon was too dark for a real appraisal so Keori tried to shrug it off. "You know I'm the best guymelef pilot around! I can fight too!" Keori's voice rattled with his congested lungs. Orland watched Keori for a long moment before lowering his head in the darkness and shaking it slowly side to side. "Orland!" The older man raised his head and their gazes met steadily.

"Look Keori, I know how talented you are in a guymelef. But it's different. No amount of training can prepare you for that first real battle on the field. And you aren't well enough as it is." Keori could hear the doubt in Orland's voice and his coal eyes betrayed a hidden fear. For the first time in their long acquaintance Keori felt hatred for the man standing on the other side of his cell.

"What do you know about it? You don't know what I've seen! I practically lived through the Zaibach War!" Keori shouted hoarsely.

"I'll admit you've seen a lot of blood for a kid your age and that gives you more of an edge, but it doesn't make you battle-ready." Orland's voice was soft, commiserating, but it also held a note of finality to it.

"You can't stop me." It was said with conviction, almost petulantly. Orland's eyes narrowed dangerously and his head nodded succinctly once.

"Then you'll stay here until it's over."

"What!" Keori gripped the bars of his prison compulsively; his knuckles were beginning to turn white under the pressure. The boy looked crazed, filthy as he was with his hair sticking up haphazardly on his head. His expression was furious though, resembling his father more than ever before.

"If I let you go you've already said you'll fight, against my better judgment. If the only way to protect you, the true heir to Fanelia, is to lock you up, then so be it. I'll not have the blood of Van's son on my hands." Keori gapped. Orland voiced the fear Keori had only been able to read in his eyes before. It was not what he expected. Without another word, Orland turned away and walked briskly down the corridor. Before he'd gotten more than a few feet Keori called out to him.

"Orland!" The silhouette of a man turned partially toward Keori, "There's a drag energist in my room, under my bed, in a bag. He'll need one for the Escaflowne." Orland gave a barely perceptible nod in the shadows. Keori sighed gustily, called himself a fool, and plopped down on the floor as his legs gave away under him. Later he would wish that Orland had released him, it would have saved him a lot of pain.

~*~ Late Afternoon (Day 3) ~*~

While Keori lay unconscious in the dungeons under a pile of rubble, the fight wore on. Already, after less than fifteen hours, bodies littered the fields of Fanelia. Guymelefs engaged in thunderous swordfights that sent up sparks like premature stars in the light of the setting sun. Ground troops tested their mettle with steel swords, dodging under the deadly feet of the combating giants. There was no escape. The enemy had come on too strong and too fast for the civilians to reach higher ground. At first women and children huddled inside their abodes, but before long the enemy was setting torches to them. Now, looking out across the field to the village during a lull in the battle, Van could see their sooty faces, mothers and children, forming water brigades. They were trying to put out the fires while the men fought with whatever weapon was handy and the elder sons took up positions protecting the innocents.

Suddenly Van saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned to beat down another opponent. The guymelef swung with precise strokes and it was all Van could do to block and evade the oncoming attack. Clearly this was one of the more experienced mercenaries; he'd noticed they were the ones controlling all the guymelefs. It was only common sense that the best and most capable fighters use the most advanced and devastating weapons. Van wished they had less sense.

The guymelef attempting to dislocate his arms was much like the others converging on Fanelia. The huge machine was the cool grey of unpainted metal with the emblem of a green dragon etched onto its—well chest in this case, but Van had seen the symbol sported elsewhere on other mechs. As the enemy went for a rush, Van expertly transformed Escaflowne into its alter ego, a dragon. Astride his mech, Van circled the enemy once before plunging in for the kill, much like an owl bearing down on a mouse. The only difference was that Van's enemy had no time to scream in agony. The sword in Escaflowne's right talon speared the rival guymelef in the shoulder and continued down until its tip peeked out from the right leg where a calf would be in a human, if that human were a twelve foot giant. The pilot inside would have been skewered; Van could see traces of blood leaking from the tip of his blade. However, there was little time to rest as two more guymelefs converged on Van's position. That was all right, his adrenaline was high and it had been too long since he'd found a real challenge.

~*~*~

Orland was not faring as well as his king. Tariq had taken on a group of hostiles only to be severely wounded and surrounded. Orland interceded himself between his injured comrade and the horde of guymelefs but that left him vulnerable. The enemy knew Orland wanted to protect Tariq. All they had to do was distract Orland with threats to Tariq. Eventually Orland would make a mistake and leave himself open to attack from those surrounding them. Orland almost laughed out loud, but a smirk was sufficient. These guys did not know who they were messing with.

One of the enemy guymelefs moved in to stab Tariq's prone form. Orland was slicing the air over his allied guymelef in an instant and kicking his leg into the eager enemy trying to exploit the moment of weakness. The first guymelef backed off before his legs could be removed at the knees from Orland's sword and the second went crashing onto its back at least fifteen feet away. The surrounding guymelefs loosened up their formation, realizing on some level that Orland wasn't the average Fanelian guard. Now the real battle would begin. Orland really wished this was nothing more than a nightmare; he wished he could wake from it.

~*~*~

Allen, in Scheherazade, and Chid, in a borrowed guymelef, were having their own go of it. Allen was leading a squadron of Fanelian fighters while Chid led the guards from his own entourage. Together the two men and their teams were dominating the right flank of the enemy. After the initial clash they managed to work their way around and to the side so they were both attacking from the side and behind all at once. The enemy formation was stubbornly holding though. Allen growled low in his throat before barking out orders to the other guymelefs in his team, through the mikes installed in the machines. Chid listened in on Allen's frequency before sending out his own orders to complement Allen's movements.

By coordinating their attacks they had managed, earlier on, to wipe out a sizable chunk of the enemy guymelefs but now they were encountering more talented fighters then before. Chid graciously bowed to Allen's greater experience and allowed the older man to lead the combined attacks. The adversary was anything but easy though. Chid marveled at the sheer existence of so many experienced fighters, relics from an era of war come to destroy the peace.

"What could they possibly gain from doing this? Why can't they accept that the war is over?" Chid yelled out half in anger, half in frustration. Allen, now back to back with him as they fended off a circle of melefs, huffed derisively into his mike.

"They want to gain what all rebels want to gain, a place to conquer and rule. Fanelia still hasn't grown to the size and power of Asturia or the other outlaying countries. They think she's an easy target." Allen countered a blow with his rapier making the air ring with its metallic tones. "Keep in mind that these people are mostly from Zaibach. They have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Zaibach is a wasteland; there is nothing there for them and the blood of revenge is sweet when compared to the ashes of a dying country."

~*~*~

Orland's breath escaped his lungs in ragged pants as he drove his sword through another guymelef. The enemy was sloppy; but Orland couldn't depend on another such occurrence in the future. He'd managed to fatally wound three of the surrounding enemy but the others were much more wary of him now. They were beginning to communicate, to form a plan of some sort, Orland could tell by their movements. Tariq's haggard breathing was a mere whisper in Orland's ear and the only thing keeping him centered on the fight. There were three more guymelefs shifting about them, blocking any easy escape. Orland decided to move on the offensive.

The moment he charged, the guymelef behind him shot forward to finish off Tariq, but Orland was expecting this. He'd only taken a step, still within sword reach of Tariq, when he swung his sword forcefully behind him instead of in front. Orland felt, but didn't see, the sword connect. A scream rent the air but quickly faded, to be replaced by a guttural choking. The misleading could only take Orland so far though. The connection cost him. One of the guymelefs in front caught on to Orland's ploy and took the opportunity to smash his sword into Orland's shoulder joint. In a flash of sparks and the sound of grating metal Orland's sword arm was separated from his torso. Orland allowed his guymelef to roll with the blow and brought up his left leg to kick his opponent. The clang of metal was deafening; his rival blocked the blow! In the next instant the enemy had hold of Orland's leg and showed no signs of letting go. The second guymelef, seeing an opening, lurched forward to impale Orland when a new guymelef plowed into him from behind. Orland did not waste time wondering about his ally; instead he purposefully unbalanced his guymelef.

As Orland's guymelef toppled backward the enemy was jerked forward and down with him. There was no time for his opponent to react. Orland used his free leg to help lift and propel the enemy into the air and over himself. The large crash that followed was satisfying. Orland could see that the second guymelef lay unmoving only feet away from him.

"Need me to finish him off for you? It appears you're unarmed." Orland could almost kick him for the tasteless pun, king or not. But, there was a war going on presently and purposely damaging a working guymelef would be inexcusable; Orland doubted the, "But he made fun of me" remark would be an acceptable excuse. Van laughed at Orland's telling silence and reached down to help him up. That was when Orland saw it, over Van's shoulder. An enemy guymelef was bearing down on Van faster than he'd be able to react even if Orland warned him.

There was only one course of action Orland could take. The ex-mercenary, using his remaining arm, gave a mighty push that sent his guymelef, screaming pistons and all, barreling into the Escaflowne. Van let out an indignant yell as the Escaflowne overbalanced, before it fell completely he was already recalibrating it to flight mode. Orland had only one second to brace for impact. The loud screech of serrated metal, a sound that a dying mouse might make if amplified one-hundred fold, was Van's first clue that something had gone terribly wrong. His second clue was what he saw below him on the battle field.

All around the fight was raging in earnest. It was clear that Fanelia had the superior force in sheer numbers. Sporadic fires lit up the dusky sky and great hunks of metal strewed the field like grotesquely twisted boulders or badly done sculptures. Bodies of several tens of people littered the upturned earth, their blood soaking into the dirt like some sort of ghastly fertilizer. But it was directly below him that Van's horror was realized. Standing as if frozen in time stood the enemy gripping the hilt of his weapon, which was buried center mast in the cockpit of Orland's guymelef. The image was burned on the back of Van's retinas in that one horrible instant. The very next he was screaming down to exact his revenge.

The duel did not last long, if one could call it a duel at all. Van slaughtered the guymelef, hacking it to bits in multiple passes from the sky. He dived from overhead, swiping his sword into whatever appendage was within reach. The enemy tried to dislodge his sword but Orland's guymelef remained stubbornly attached to it until the end. When the opponent simply let go and tried to retreat Van pursued in all his vengeful glory. One swoop parallel and mere centimeters off the ground brought the enemy up short and missing the limbs to stand on. A second dive sliced the cover from the cockpit. A third spilt the guymelef navel to head. There was no need for a fourth but that did not prevent Van from making the plunge and ramming his sword into the carcass clearly visible without the hatch cover. Only after the guymelef was unsalvageable and the body resembled nothing more than clumps of flesh did his blood craze abate. And then he was making his way to Orland's guymelef.

There was no way he could have survived such a blow. Van obstinately made the climb to the hatch. A quick check revealed that the release was still operational. Van thanked the deities. There was a loud pneumonic hiss as the air pressure equalized and the sound of grating metal as the sword was pulled out a bit. Inside all was dark and still. Van held his breath and squeezed into the tight space. The figure in the chair laid unnaturally still, the abnormally large blade buried through the whole right side of him. Van could see the stab had been slightly off the mark.

The blade split Orland's right thigh, cut its way through the right lung severing the right arm completely from Orland's body along with a good chunk of ribs and flesh, and continued up and beyond the shoulder into and through the cockpit. Orland let out a shuddering gasp and the breath he drew in rattled as the blood in his throat, from his filling left lung, threatened to suffocate him. There would be no use calling for a medic, it was hopeless. Even if Orland was still alive, barely, the second they tried to remove the sword he would die.

"Lord…Van." Orland choked through the blood that began to slowly dribble from the sides of his mouth.

"I'm safe, you protected me." Van confirmed what he knew Orland wanted to know. The ex-mercenary turned military commander of the Fanelian troops gave Van a barely perceptible nod.

"Kan…" Orland's face twisted into a grimace as he struggled to gain air from one collapsed, torn lung and another blood congested one.

"I know he was right. You don't really think I'd keep him locked up after all this, do you?"

Van watched his good friend dying with confusion suffusing his expression. Perhaps Orland was going into shock, or suffering random bursts of neurons to his brain so unassociated words were coming from his mouth. But no, Orland's head swayed to the side just barely.

"What is it, Orland? What about Kan?" Instinctively Van reached across the mutilated form of his military commander and took up the hand still attached to his body. Whatever it was Orland was trying to say with his last dying breath was vital, important beyond anything he'd ever told Van before about the boy. Van could just feel it.

"Pro…teck K'ri," the blood was garbling the words until they were almost unintelligible, but Van leaned in listening attentively, "He's...he's…" Orland's body gave a great shudder, then stilled. Van sat there starring unerringly into the glassy eyes that for such a brief moment held such stark panic that he would not get his message said. Van wished he had; he felt he missed the answer to a larger question he hadn't been sure he'd asked in the first place. Gently Van brushed Orland's eyelids closed. Why did Orland want him to protect Keori? '_Who is that boy?_'

"…rd Van…in. I repeat Lo…Van please, come in…" the static of the radio caught Van's attention. His hand reaching out automatically, he switched it on and answered.

"This is Van, what is it?"

"Most…the reb…been killed, cap…retreat. I took…n into the keep. Your High…we can't seem to find…Queen Isadora or the children."


	2. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24: Unraveled**

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Chapter Song: Breaking the Habit by Linkin Park

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"We can't seem to find…Queen Isadora or the children." Pressed close to the bloody remains of what was once his closest friend in the cramped confines of a guymelef control chamber, King Van Fanel felt his world tip off its axis and plunge into the infinite void of space. Still moving by rote, his hand sluggishly flipped the proper switch to open the two-way communication channel.

"Please repeat." He could not even recognize his own voice as he spoke those sparse words into that gaping abyss. The metallic scent of blood permeated the air; Van could feel the viscous substance coating his hands as they slipped on the controls. A brief glance at his person revealed dark splotches seeping into his breeches wherever they made contact with the central chair. Even in the pervading gloom of the partially lit chamber Van could discern the abundance of oxidized fluid.

"…rd Van!...Come in Lord V…" the king was jerked from his morbid inspection, brought sharply into focus as the original message finally seeped below the overwhelming pain of loss. _What was he doing? He didn't have time to mourn a friend in the midst of a battle. His children were missing!_ Galvanized into motion, Van scrambled from the cockpit in haste. As he squeezed through the narrow rift he unsurprisingly left a bit of skin behind. Wordlessly the king promised to return and give his selfless comrade a proper burial. For the time being he activated the controls that would seal the mech—now coffin—until his return.

On his way to Escaflowne Van encountered two mercs on foot. Their intentions were apparent as they skulked around Van's mech. The two meant to scavenge the field for workable guymelefs to aide their cause. Van sped forward silently and ruthlessly dispatched the nearest from behind. The other had only enough time to see that his comrade was dead and make the starting motions to flee before Van's sword fell on him as well. Van had no sympathy for fanatics or cowards but he found this willingness to abandon the battlefield most contemptible. After all, it was their choice to march on Fanalia; one would think they were committed. Something wasn't making sense. The tension built within Van, a silent compulsion was leading him to return to the castle immediately.

Inside Escaflowne, Van opened a channel to the main fleet. After a short-lived consultation with Allen and Chid, Van conferred new orders and determined the battle was in hand. Now he had only to find Keori and his children. It only took moments before he was airborne.

Van brought Escaflowne to an abrupt standstill within the courtyard at the castle. Vaulting from the control chamber, he fairly flung himself to the hard-packed earth. When Van hit the ground he was still feeling the impact running up his legs as he darted into the keep. He raced along the dark, torch-lit halls of the castle toward Keori's room. '_Surely Orland released the boy from his prison?_' Skidding to a halt in front of the correct door, he noticed it was slightly ajar, hanging on its hinges. A mere turn of his head brought the room into muted focus. Grabbing a torch to the side of the door, he entered. What he found inside was far from what he'd expected.

The room was in ruins. The chair and desk were toppled. The bed was stripped and slashed, its guts pouring out onto the floor which was also cluttered with clothing, bedding, and goose down in various states of damp. The washbasin laid an empty discard, explanation enough for the presence of water. Among the carnage were scattered chips of clear glass reflecting the trembling flames of the torch; an object of some sort had been smashed violently against the unforgiving stone.

A luminous white feather blew across Van's way, catching in his clothing. Van eyed the longer than usual plume but figured it for an odd feather mistakenly used to stuff the pillows. He brushed it aside and regarded the room critically. The chaos indicated there may have been a struggle, but the complete destruction and lack of traceable footprints or blood made that conjecture unlikely. If the room was not even occupied beforehand then this was a deliberate act of vandalism or an indiscriminate search. Van felt his chest tighten in alarm. '_Who the hell is Keori Kan?_'

Pivoting on his heels, his Highness raced away from the wreckage toward where he hoped he would find the boy. Orland was dead. The pain of loss tore through his chest like a gaping wound. His thoughts could do little else but poke at it and wonder how bad it was, if the wound would ever fully heal; and with the prodding came more pain that inevitably caused him to shy away again. Van was no novice when it came to dealing with repressed emotions but now was a bad time for the habit to desert him. In the midst of a war, mourning a lost friend could only appear selfish, but Orland's last words kept ringing in Van's ears. _Protect Keori. Protect Keori._ The mantra kept Van on his feet and running else he might have just collapsed in anguish. The thirty-two year old, war-hardened man within him was coldly vowing retribution but the traumatized young adolescent was shrieking in fear and begging for it all to end. A pithy fifteen years of peace was not a fair trade for a decimated childhood; Van couldn't help but feel severely wronged on a personal level.

Guards, who were busy scouring the keep for his missing family and securing the castle, watched their king as he sprinted by. Van was halfway to the dungeons before something registered in his turbulent thoughts and brought him up short. His breath whooshed in and out of his lungs like the bellows in an iron factory. If Keori had been telling the truth, then that meant he never lied about any of it. One of Van's own most trusted people was involved in what was clearly turning into a conspiracy. '_But Priest Regis isn't…_' Van shook his head partly in denial and partly with an unbearable epiphany. Regret swarmed his heart; he had an idea where he could find his children. He swiftly made his way again.

Down the corridors as fast as his legs could carry him, Van spared a few thoughts for his people. They were holding up admirably. The death toll could not be calculated until the field was cleared of the enemy, but it was not looking as dire as the Zaibach Campaign. With Fanelia's population expanded to nearly three times its original size, the low projection was well-received. Allen had also mentioned that most of the fires were doused and the few homes in the process of being completely consumed were on a controlled burn. People who managed to secret away in the hills before the mercenaries marched on Fanelia were already returning to aide their fellow men and women. As for the castle itself, Van saw only minor damage when he flew in on Escaflowne. Passing through the halls he could see people were already scurrying to clean up what little evidence of damage there was.

Van finally reached the dungeons, which were quickly being filled with snarling captured rebels. The King spared them not so much as a glance in his haste to one particular cell. The blazing torches paved his way and blurred after images into his retinas as he passed. Van felt as if his heart had stopped when he reached his intended destination. The roof of the cell was practically caved in, the most architectural destruction to the castle he'd witnessed yet, and Van could see streaks of blood in the dirt encrusting the floor. He had failed. Orland's last request and Van couldn't even protect one boy.

"Your Highness, we can't seem to find Kan. We believe he was abducted along with your family." The guard's words were concise reporting but held an inquiring tone. He too wondered what business the enemy could have with a simple boy. When Van turned to the guard with interest in his words the guard indicated a blood-smeared disturbed patch of dirt on the floor as a way of explanation. Relief, only briefly, washed over Van when he saw the markings on the ground that indicated the boy had been dragged from his prison. '_What could they possibly want with Kan?_' His thoughts were only becoming more multifarious as he dwelled on it. Van desperately wished Orland were here to tell him what was going on. Questions, all concerning the strange boy who dropped out of nowhere into his life, paraded around his skull with annoying persistence. They didn't matter; he had to protect Keori. He had to rescue his children.

~*~*~

Keori woke groggily. A groan escaped from his parched throat. The first indication that he was no longer in his cell was the pain in his wrists throbbing in tandem with his heartbeat. They felt as if they were slowly being pulled apart from his body. His head lolled weakly to the side; his eyes opened to slits squinting in the harsh light from overhead. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and blinking only paved way for more as they refused to adjust. By feel, Keori determined his wrists were bound with rope; it chafed angrily at his skin. The cold sting of metal revealed a construct, by which he hung. The pressure, as far as Keori could tell, developed from his limp weight pulling on the wrists he hung between.

Experimentally Keori felt for the floor beneath him, anything to get the weight off his agonized wrists. The sharp pain that sprouted white-hot from his right knee caused a hoarse scream to issue from his throat and bright spots of light to dance in his vision. Keori blacked out for a brief minute.

"Now, now, don't aggravate your wounds. I don't want you to lose consciousness again. That would just be so boring." said a mellifluous voice that he recognized. Keori detested the whimper that escaped him of its own volition. He'd never felt this amount of pain before in his life. His knee was surely shattered, hopefully not beyond repair. Sweat beaded on his forehead and snaked into his eyes, irritating them all the more. The most he could manage was a blurry stare at the figure addressing him. A curved figure and too slight to be a man, light colored hair, and eyes the very texture of the exclusive stones they imitated. Keori squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his head away from the truth. Pain, of the emotional kind, beset his heart on behalf of his father and siblings.

"No need to be so formal," said in a calmly piqued fashion belying the equally threatening undertone, "As a guest it is only proper that you show me due respect, but even I won't demand that you sway your eyes when speaking to me." Keori had no desire to look upon her in any respect and kept his face turned away. In seconds his muscles could no longer contract and his head bowed between his shoulders, the thin film of his eyelids became his sole resistance to her jibe.

"W-What are you doing?" Keori managed to query short of breath. Even that small effort brought pain and the light-headed feeling that preceded fainting. He struggled to stay conscious taking small but measured breaths through his nose. He secretly wondered how long ago he was trussed up and prayed the lack of blood flow to his hands would not damage them too severely. Then sound brought his focus to his captor; all thoughts silenced so that he could concentrate on her words and comprehend them.

"I'm surprised you bother to ask. I would have thought you…_knew _already," Keori felt a chill as the words were given a peculiar inflection. What Queen Isadora acknowledged went beyond Keori's accusations to the king. Somehow she knew what—and more importantly who—he was!

"But Naomi and the boys," Keori nearly choked, whether with revulsion or unexpressed emotion was unclear, "they're your children!"

Keori cried out as the attempt to yell brought a slew of pain with it. His breathing turned erratic and a coughing fit caused darkness to encroach on his vision. Only this time Keori lost consciousness for longer than a few seconds. When next he came to it was with a startled scream as a whip snapped against his ribs. He had only a glimpse to identify the merc known as Hardorn—whom he had once seen in a vision through another merc by the name of Keryon—for in the next moment he was fighting another losing battle for air. The second crack of the whip scored his upper thigh, perilously close to another tender part of his anatomy, but by then Keori could have been flayed to death without uttering a sound because he blacked out on a more extended basis. Watching the proceedings from a distance, Queen Isadora scowled and ordered the subordinate to bring him around once more.

~*~*~

Allen shifted his straining eyes toward the horizon searching for any flicker of movement in the twilight glow. Some stragglers remained; Allen could hear them prowling among the hulking ruins of fallen guymelefs. For all the knowledge of their presence, Allen still could not see them. Silently he willed the sun to raise again more swiftly. For the moment he steadily grasped his sword, primed for violence, and passed one dusty, blood-speckled sleeve over his brow. The night was muggy and the sweat of exertion permeated his clothing so much so that even Allen could smell the musk. The Caeli Knight would have been concerned about enemy detection except his own grunge couldn't hold a candle to the rank stench of the battlefield itself.

Bodies rift open bled glutinous fluids in dampened pastures. Completely severed remains scattered the ground like grisly confetti. Already, carrion birds lay feast to the pickings contending only with what appeared to be the entire insect population of Fanelia. Apparently the mercenary faction cared less for their dead comrades than for the personal effects they could strip from their corpses. Allen bared witness to several instances of appropriation. Some thieves would go so far as to remove the very clothing from a dying companion begging for help. If the victim was lucky he might be given a swift execution. A few occurrences notwithstanding, the most common theft still remained weapons—the more lethal, the more quickly usurped—and guymelefs were the prime pickings. In response, while Allen and his crew methodically captured or dispatched the residual insurgents on the ground, Chid's detachment was charged with retrieving the mechanical means of destruction.

Spare drag energists were shared out to Chid's men and even a few civilian contractors who knew the basics of operating a guymelef. With a duo of allied guymelefs standing guard, three men on foot would approach an inert guymelef first, to determine if it was occupied. Using a drag energist, if necessary, they would open up the control chambers. The main purpose was to ensure there weren't any Trojan Horses—men inside feigning death while secretly planning an attack when Fanelia's guard came down. If the guymelef turned up clean, relatively speaking, the next step was to check if it was still intact or at least functional. If the answer was yes, one person of the original three was given the task of walking it to the castle holding—not a gratifying experience when someone has previously died inside the chamber, usually in a very messy and unpleasant way. If the guymelef was beyond field-repair the three men would salvage what was useful and leave the shell for later disposal. In this manner Chid was preventing the enemy from taking possession of the only weapons displaying a real danger to Fanelian forces.

The muted sound of a boot treading on grass had Allen striking in one fluid motion. The zing of sound and jarring vibrations up Allen's arm proved this fighter better equipped than some of his cohorts fertilizing the fields. Allen was forced to take a step in retreat to better engage his enemy. The pervading obscurity of dusk cloaked small identifying markers, but Allen could distinguish the scruffy attire and an unkempt beard. A desperate foe was sometimes worse than a calculating one; the odds of Allen accurately predicting his moves were less in his favor. Then again, a disorderly appearance in their current situation could be a misleading marker. Allen slowly began to move to the side until his opponent mirrored the action in counterpoint; now they were revolving around each other affording each a constant view of his surroundings. Allen kept a vigilant eye to the fringe, anticipating an interloper. He wouldn't put it past mercenaries to jump him if given half the chance.

"I wouldn't spare so much attention to the future," Allen's attention sharpened on his adversary as the rough voice rent the still air, "with death staring me in the face." Allen caught a flash of bared canines before the man made his assault. As the sword came bearing down from above Allen stepped to the side and knocked the offensive weapon off course using his own. A feral laugh escaped the mercenary who recovered quickly, daintily skipping out of striking range.

Allen had the distinct feeling he was being led into some kind of trap and wearily eyed the encroaching shadows. His enemy seized the moment of distraction, nearly plunging the tip of his blade into Allen's chest. Allen closely managed to deflect the blow, but he came away with a nasty gouge in his shoulder.

"I told you." his antagonist taunted in a sing-song voice conveying a disturbing appetite for violence. Allen could just make out the glint of lunacy in pitch, staring eyes. If that wasn't a clear enough indicator, the spontaneous cackle of laughter that next escaped the man's lips cinched it. Allen tensed; if there was an enemy worse than a desperate one, it was a criminally insane one.

After the war there were those anomalous combatants who could not, for one deranged reason or another, slake their thirst for blood. They were remnants driven by a skewed logic so convoluted and flawed beyond recognition that it could only end in psychosis. And their _particular_ neuroses tended toward impulsive unremitting brutality.

Allen kept alert to the danger on his flanks but he focused a more cautious eye on his opponent. The bedraggled man let out a sudden high-pitched screech, sounding like a night-thing dying, and lunged erratically forward. Allen brought his sword to bear on the opposing force. The harsh rasp of metal became audible only after the initial sound of contact.

~*~*~

Muffled sound and colorful contours gave way to harsh rhythm and bare minerals as Van loped his way into the old castle. The pounding of his steps was amplified and echoed by the tromping of the guards following him. No sooner had the thought occurred to him then he was making his way and gathering what warriors were nearby. If his intuition was accurate—as it made a habit of being, recent events notwithstanding—Van knew exactly where to find his children.

The knuckles of the hand firmly gripped around the hilt of his sword turned white with the exertion of pressure. Van nearly prayed, against the wellbeing of his own children, that he was wrong. The heart within his chest was pounding in counterpoint to the beat of his feet on the stone floor. He would almost rather experience the panic and anxiety of the last few hours over his children's unknown whereabouts than acknowledge the suspicions budding to the fore of his mind.

Van faltered, all but stumbled to the ground, as he was awash with the haunting stench of burning. A faceless guard steadied him with a grip above his elbow, below the crook between his shoulder and ribs. No matter how often or how exhaustively the place was scoured the odor of ash suffused the ancient wing. Faint, ghostly echoes of the crackling flames imposed themselves into his awareness until the query went up among his sentry; they also could hear it.

Van picked up his pace, round the last bend, to the corridor leading to the former throne room. Unexpectedly they were enveloped by a putrid black cloud which brought on hacking coughs and weeping, irritated eyes. Van and several others instinctively hunched closer to the ground and were just as quickly emulated by those less experienced. With motions of the hand, Van sent scouts ahead to investigate the cause and extent of the blaze.

Moments passed. The air was fraught with tension; every miniscule shift of the body caused stilled nerves to wind all the more tightly. Another moment elapsed. Time became, all at once, too slow as the wait extended from one second to the next with no sign of a return. Sweat began to bead on the skin as the ambient temperature rose. Van released a slow breath of stagnant air; spots in his vision and the light-headed feeling served as a reminder to breathe.

"Lord Van," the tremulous voice in a veteran was enough to alarm him, "the enemy…they're _inside_."

~*~*~

_'Kill him'_. The sibilant voice whispered in the dark recesses of his mind. _'Kill him. Yes, yes run my sword right through his middle and watch the blood spill, spill, spill like rain spills from the dark clouds in the sky; like the tears will spill over his corpse once he's dead, dead, dead.'_ He charged at the motionless man's back and brought his sword down. _'Blood, where's the spilled blood and the dead corpse on which the sky sheds raindrop- drip-drop, hehe, drip-drop, where are the tears?'_ But it took a moment for him to realize the blow did not connect. The man was unharmed and there was a sword crossing his own.

The man stepped back. _'Yes, retreat, retreat like the coward who runs, runs, runs from the death that's coming, the death that I bring.'_ He eyed his opponent. The man was tall, taller than he was with long, really long blonde, _'Red?'_ blonde hair. '_Red hair, bloody red hair, hair dipped in blood and red, red dirt just as good as blood._' Unconsciously he mimicked the other man as he began to circle. '_Around and around, and around we go, where we'll stop, nobody knows!_' He caught the man's eyes darting to the outer darkness.

"I wouldn't spare so much attention to the future," he growled, a slow, feral smile parting his lips "with death staring me in the face." He leapt forward for another attack, _'Let the cold, silver, steel slice neatly into flesh and let the red, red, blood spill, spill, spill onto the blood red ground._' but his adversary easily deflected it. Lightly stepping back, a bubbling sensation worked its way up from his stomach to his throat and out of his mouth, laughter._ 'Kill him. Heh hehe hehehe. Watching me, watching me with those blue, steel blue, like the sword blue, blue eyes, watching me,' _his foe cast another glance to the side,_ ' and then not. No, no, no, naughty, naughty and look I've cut him.'_ Like a blossoming flower, blood seeped from the shoulder wound into view; the very sight of it thrilled him.

"I told you." he taunted in a sing-song voice. '_Blood is drip, drip, dripping and soon it will spill, spill like tears from eyes and all over until it covers his corpse and the ground, the red, blood red ground in which they'll bury him; then he'll be covered with blood and red blood dirt until nothing of him is seen._' His eyes alighted on the dark, blood-stained patch of clothe under which there was ripped and bleeding flesh. '_I've cut him and next I'll kill him. I'll kill him until he's dead, dead, dead!_' hysterical laughter followed the thought. Across from him, his opponent stared fixedly and gave him a wide berth. '_Kill him. Kill him. Kill him._' Insistently, incessantly, ever more loudly the voice was directing him until all he could do was pitch his voice over the noise in his head and strike forward. One pass and then another and a third, but on the fourth assault his ears were filled with the shrill command and his eyes would not focus and there was something not quite right with the hands gripping his sword. His vision filled with red, the red of running blood, but as he gazed up at his shadowed opponent he could not see where all the blood was coming from, there was so much of it, blood spilling so copiously that someone would be dead, dead without it.

~*~*~

Allen waited until the last spark of life left his opponent's eyes. After he was assured the man was dead, he had to walk some feet away to find a dry patch of grass with which he could clean the blood from his sword. The majority of the gore was transferred to the grass but even so, Allen rubbed the flat of each side across the outside edge of his uniform pants. Cleaning encrusted blood from a steel weapon was arduous, and leaving it on too long made the blade rust and become worthless. Allen did not know when he would get the chance to clean the blade properly so it was best to keep it serviceable between kills. The day had been long and the amount of bloodshed more then he wished to stomach ever again. By now the sun was well and truly set; the darkness of the fields shrouded all movement beyond his negligible night vision. If there were any insurgents remaining, which was highly probable, the best offense would be to convene at the castle's outer rim and defend it against those seeking entrance.

Allen found the deactivated Scheherazade where he'd left it, cloaked near a copse of trees. With the efficiency of a soldier he removed the camouflage net and carefully set his energist into the awaiting pocket. Scheherazade hummed into life as Allen clambered into the control chamber.

"Allen, Allen come in!" It took a moment for the adrenaline—pumped through his system when the communication channel unexpectedly activated—to wane and his heart to slow. Allen facilitated the calming procedure with a few deep, slow breaths. Meanwhile Chid continued trying to raise him and his tone of voice left little doubt the news would be grim. Allen flipped the proper switch and spoke into the device.

"This is Allen, what's going on Chid?"

"Allen, we've found something. I think you better come see for yourself." There was an aged quality to Chid's voice that brought to mind the events of the Zaibach Campaign. Allen looked outward to the silent, indifferent darkness that was only interrupted by the sparse flagging fires soon to be doused. He could almost believe Fanelia was out there sleeping except he knew how deceptive the shale night could be. Right now the pitch, void of light served as a cover for those dissidents wishing to harm her. Allen gritted his teeth and responded.

"Talk to me." He prompted.

"We're on the South-west side of what looks to be a section of the old castle. Allen, there's an entrance here. It must have been a secret passage or…Why wasn't anyone guarding this place!" Chid's frustration carried clearly over the channel.

"Chid, what are you telling me?" Allen could infer but he needed to hear it directly.

"The castle has been breached. I don't know how many mercs took advantage, but I'd be willing to bet some of those early deserters weren't leaving at all. They were most likely men assigned to this aperture. How could they have kn…" Chid broke away for a moment, Allen could hear an indistinct mumble in the background as the Duke conferred with his men, and then he returned. "I'm taking a contingent inside. I'd appreciate some support. We'll also need to set a perimeter; there's no telling where they'll come out."

"I thought of that a few moments ago, only I hadn't known they penetrated so deeply. There really isn't any use fumbling blindly in the dark for the stragglers out here. I'm going to recall the forces to the castle and set them to watching both internal and external traffic. Give me a few moments then I'll join you." Allen paused for confirmation then closed the channel to open another.

~*~*~

The first sense to return to him was his hearing, only it was as if the sounds he was hearing were being filtered through water before they reached his ears. There was some shuffling, a whimper that could have come from him but he wasn't sure, and then an indistinct raised voice rebuking someone. Keori tried to open his eyes but the most he could do was slit them so his lashes obscured any true vision. The harsh light from before was still shining intensely on his face. A few tears leaked from his eyes, adding to the gummy substance gluing them partially closed. It was at this point Keori felt an incredible weight on his chest and a desperate need for oxygen.

Taking a breath was difficult and painful. His nose was broken and clogged with dried blood. When Keori instinctively tried to breathe through his nasal passage a gobbet of bloody mucus slid down his throat nearly causing him to gag. One defunct airway down left only his mouth. Keori drew in slow, shallow breaths which tasted of copper—blood from his broken nose and split lip the cause—and triggered a burning sensation to travel the length of his torso. Keori couldn't be sure if the pain was coming from taxed lungs or if the damage was more external in nature. He couldn't even recall how many times he was whipped, assuming the man stopped while he was unconscious—an assumption he was not willing to make.

"K-Keori?" while the center syllables came across garbled, Keori could still recognize his name as it was tremblingly called. He tried to face the direction of the speaker to no avail, but he must have managed something because the next words he heard were, "Keori, thank God you're alive."

His tongue felt like an inert slab of flesh in his mouth, with no muscle to move it. Even so, it was imperative that he communicate with Naomi, if only to reassure her. Keori mustered up a breath of air, only to have it explosively expel from him again as a sharp pain lanced from his side. The guttural noise that escaped his lips sounded like a cross between a yelp and a groan. Naomi called out to him, concerned, but her words eluded him. The haze of pain and lack of adequate oxygen were fast becoming his undoing.

"Nao-" came out on the next exhale, but then his lungs contracted. An anxious struggle to draw in air ensued. Blurrily, Keori caught sight of movement where Naomi was, but he couldn't focus enough to determine how her position had changed.

"Get…down…You're killing him!" her scream, the first words he heard clearly, echoed eerily around him. There was some sort of significance to that but Keori could only concentrate on what it felt like to slowly suffocate to death. Tremors began to pass up his arms, occasionally causing one hand to twitch or spasm against the bindings. His lack of vision was made worse by the black fringe working its way inward. Only the panic-generated adrenaline and the reduced endorphin flow within his body were keeping Keori conscious. He would have sobbed with vexation if he could marshal the air needed to support such emotion; for the time being, only silent tears of pain trekked their way down his face.

"He's turning blue, damn you!" As if to compensate him for his untimely death, Keori's hearing returned to normal, allowing him the chance to listen to his last moments. Naomi. The shape of her name formed on his lips repeatedly but, without a voice to carry it, she did not hear him. "Please. I'm begging you. Please, let him down!" Naomi beseeched to an unseen authority. Keori hoped the person wasn't her mother. By now there was no question that Naomi was aware of her mother's betrayal; helplessly, Keori still wished to shield her from that ugly truth.

"What worth can he possibly be to you dead?" Naomi demanded hotly. The slight quiver in her voice gave away her very real fear for him.

"You would be surprised," rejoined the smooth tones of the traitor herself.

In the next moment the constant pressure on Keori's wrists vanished. He dropped like a stone. Air gushed into his body as his lungs finally managed to expand. Then he hit the metal-grated platform on both feet, which immediately buckled beneath him as a scream tore itself from his throat. Keori's knee was nothing more than an angry, inflamed knot of blistering agony. He curled around the appendage breathlessly stumbling over words of prayer and supplication. He was not even aware that his hands were still secured to the metal device, only now being held below waist level. Wet warmth seeped through his tattered clothing, heating his clammy skin. Several of the half-scabbed cuts littering his body were now bleeding freely after the impact of his landing. Though the sting of these was like a lit match compared to the raging inferno of his knee; they didn't rate so much as a twitch of discomfort.

"Keori!"

When his name finally registered, it sounded like Naomi had been screaming it for some time. He must have shown some acknowledgement because in the next moment Naomi was asking after his well being.

"Answer me! Are you all right?" Naomi prompted into the silence broken only by his labored breathing.

"H-," His breath hitched and he forced a swallow to rid himself of the acidic taste in his mouth, "Hurts." He managed above a whisper. Naomi was still able to pick out the lone word. The room conducted sound very well. Something about that niggled in the back of Keori's mind, but just as quickly the half-formed thoughts disappeared.

"You should'a let 'im die." Hardorn asserted harshly and then hawked and spat, "Damn ash. Either way, we can't stay 'ere much longer 'r the fire'll reach us."

Now that it was mentioned, Keori could taste the cloying smoke that was most likely augmenting his breathing problems. By now the pain in his knee was dulled to an excruciating, but bearable, pulse. Keori became aware that his hands, while still bound, were allowed a wider range of movement. Leaning forward, and bending his elbows, brought his numbed hands to his face. Using the joint between his thumb and palm, Keori knuckled the caked fluids from his eyes. His vision was returned just in time to witness Queen Isadora backhand Hardorn across the face.

"If I had wanted your advice," she sneered as she said the word, "I would have demanded it." From the height and angle at which Keori sat, he could not make out Hardorn's face. However, the conspicuous silence and the telling tremble of Hardon's balled fists gave Keori a fair idea what expression the man wore.

"Where are they!" Queen Isadora whirled from the direction of the door until she was facing Hardorn again; then she boar down on him with every menacing fiber of her being. "They should have been here by now."

"Per'aps they would'a been if they 'adn't been delayed by the unnatur'lly informed guards." Hardorn's face angled meaningfully at Keori. The hatred focused on him caused a cold flush throughout Keori's body.

"Have no doubt; he will be dealt with, regardless of the outcome." Keori did not need to see Queen Isadora to feel her wrathful gaze on him. She made his skin crawl in a most unpleasant manner.

"What, what are you going to do to him?" Naomi's voice quivered from the forgotten corner she was restrained in.

Keori gazed down at his sister, but her attention was focused on their captors. She looked the worse for wear, wilted in a many-layered, wispy sleeping gown that was torn and dirt-smeared. She'd clearly been dragged from her bed. Keori could imagine what her first thoughts were on being awakened during the false dawn of morning. She must have thought the castle was under attack and she was being evacuated. Keori wondered how long it took before she realized her own mother was holding her hostage.

"Don't concern yourself overly much with him. He will be serving a most auspicious role, one of which you should take due notice." Queen Isadora aimed a malicious smile at Keori which left little doubt in his mind what her plans for him entailed. The only question left was, how much of a role would his father play when all the cast reached the stage?

"What do you mean by that? What does Keori have to do with any of this?" Naomi sounded frustrated as she cast Keori a look of compassion. "He hasn't done anything…"

"That's where you are wrong!" Queen Isadora cut in scathingly. "If it weren't for him, we would not be in this mess! If he had just stayed in his own land our plans would have been realized. He has everything to do with this!" She ended in a shout, one index finger pointed accusingly in his direction, shaking with barely suppressed fury.

"It was you," heads swiveled to look up at him, "You were the one who sent that guymelef after the carriage in Asturia. Marilyn wasn't the target," Keori shook his head and cursed himself a fool for not connecting it sooner; "It was Naomi." Keori slowly, carefully clenched then loosened his hands trying to work the circulation back into them. When a chance presented itself he would have to be ready to utilize it.

"That's correct. His priority mission was to take her but," the Queen gave a negligent shrug; "if he managed to seize the Asturian princess I would not have been disappointed." Keori watched her features gradually contort with loathing. "If it weren't for you, we would be in negotiation right now. All that planning wasted." Apparently she carried a lot of resentment toward him, but Keori expected it was not all on account of his actions. Queen Isadora knew things, perhaps not at the time he first became an impediment to her plans, but definitely now; she as much as told him so in their previous verbal encounter.

"He tried to kill them." Keori rejoined in protest.

"All is the more pity he failed."

Naomi gasped and shot a horrified look at her mother.

"But…" Keori felt the confusion like a tangible thing clouding his mind. If the original plan was to abduct Naomi to use her as collateral against Isadora's demands, why would the Queen not care if she was killed?

"Did you honestly think I didn't have an alternative plan if such was the case? Could you imagine what would have happened between the two kingdoms if Van Fanel discovered an Asturian knight was responsible?"

"But he wasn't Asturain!" Naomi shouted before Keori could voice the same reflection.

"Wasn't he?" The smirk twisting her lips belayed the innocent timbre of Queen Isadora's voice.

"How would you explain Marilyn's death? Or Celena's?" The whole operation was turning out more complicated than Keori initially anticipated; how deep did it run?

"What would that matter to Van Fanel after his only daughter was dead?"

Keori had to admit there was some truth to her words. Perhaps they would not have gone to war, but his father would never have forgiven Asturia for failing to protect his daughter, regardless of the other deaths.

"How long have you…" Naomi could not bring herself to voice the question in full. Her own mother was, had been, possibly for a number of years, planning her own child's seizure. She was to be used akin to a pawn in a chess game; and everyone knows how easily pawns serve as sacrificial pieces.

"I have been planning since before I spawned you." Queen Isadora showed no reluctance to admit it. "You and them," she motioned to the unconscious twins in the far corner adjacent to Naomi, "You were like parasites implanted in me, feeding off of me. I never wanted you, but HE demanded it of me. I was tied to him and this place against my will!" Disgust, resentment, anger, and hatred, each emotion ran deeper and was fueled by the next. Naomi choked on a sob and buried her face into up drawn knees.

Keori wondered at what point madness lost its cunning. Already Queen Isadora made the mistake of kidnapping them, but keeping them in the castle was particularly unwise. Keori finally recognized what had been bothering him about the room they were in. The ante chamber was part of the old castle; it was used to house guymelefs for repair. Keori was suspended on a platform employed to reach the control chamber without having to climb the machine. Just then, it was this height advantage that afforded Keori an unrestrained view of the happenings at the door.

"Your Highness! It's…" The rebel that burst through the door staggered to a halt and mouthed soundlessly as one hand gestured back toward the way he'd come.

"Well?" Queen Isadora prompted impatiently, "What is it!"

"They, they found our escape route. There are guards from Asturia, Freid, and Fanelia making their way in." The man shifted nervously in place.

"And?" Queen Isadora also grasped there was more to the message.

"Lord Fanel is leading a contingent of guards down the main passage. We are being attacked on both sides." Such was the man's fear that Keori could see his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively even from a distance. Naomi let out an elated cry of hope.

"Fuck! Now we're caught in a trap of our own making. Is this what you wanted?" Hardorn turned on Isadora, beyond giving caution to his words. "You 'ave sentenced us to death."

"Bar the door and don't be so melodramatic. Our forces will turn the tide, and if they don't…Well, don't forget we have our own means of exodus." Queen Isadora passed a significant gaze over her children and Keori. Hardorn's answering smile was not so much one of confidence, but rather one of grim resolve. As a fighter, Hardorn realized the bleakness of their situation. There would be no escaping apart from a miracle, and he wasn't holding his breath for one of those.

Keori also recognized the state of affairs, but that did not preclude their survival in the least. If Queen Isadora came to realize the truth, she would have them all slaughtered before rescue ever reached them. Keori shifted tentatively in place and was greeted with a slew of expected pain. There was no helping it. If the worst came to pass he would, unfortunately, be of little assistance.

"Can you hear that?" Naomi broke into the intermittent silence. "Father!" she then screamed, trying to be heard into the antechamber where Keori could just make out the sounds of colliding swords. In response, Queen Isadora issued a voiceless command. With swift movements, Hardorn strode over to Naomi and cracked her on the side of her face with a closed fist. Naomi's whole body jerked to one side, causing the chains securing her in place to rattle and muffle her exclamation of pain.

"Keep your mouth shut." Queen Isadora ordered threateningly. Naomi whimpered and curled into herself for fear of further abuse. Keori didn't doubt that it was the first time anyone had hit her. Suddenly there was the sound of a solid impact against the door that was followed by another, and then another. The door was being rammed.

"They'll break through sooner 'r later. We need to pr'pare for when that 'appens." Instead of castigating him for more unasked for advice, Queen Isadora focused her intent gaze on Hardorn and awaited further suggestions. However, the man did not say another word. Instead, he walked over to the drugged boys, slung Jiro over one shoulder, and then lifted Benjiro around the middle like he weighed no more than a sack of grain. Naomi let out a strangled noise, the only form of protest she could muster without actually speaking. Hardorn walked toward her. Naomi wrapped herself into a tighter shivering ball of fear, but the man only deposited the boys on the ground beside her. Naomi didn't hesitate to snatch the boys to her and curl protectively around as much of them as she conceivable could. Hardorn snorted derisively and unsheathed his sword.

"No!" the shout was past his lips before Keori could reign it in. Naomi whimpered even as she sheltered the twins' necks, bearing her own in the process.

"We are only being prepared." Queen Isadora explained casually. She gave no indication that the sight of a man holding a lethal sword over her children disturbed her. From the back entrance more mercenaries poured in and took up positions around the captives. "Which reminds me," Queen Isadora's eyes bored into Keori. He was so focused on her inhuman gaze that he failed to see Hardon's response to it. In one moment, Keori was semi-curled on his side, opposite the one with the damaged knee, and in the next he was raised aloft by his lashed wrists. His head reeling and consciousness slipping in and out, he was not aware that he'd screamed. However, Keori did hear the sound of splintering wood and his father's voice; and he recognized the man that burst through the doorway despite the tears obscuring his vision.

"Naomi! Is that you, Naomi?"

Van Fanel unburied his sword from Priest Regis' stomach and sent the man toppling, still dying, to the floor. Fanelia's King was dirt splotched, soot-stained, and virtually bathed in blood. The burgundy fluid, still wet, glistened malevolently in the lights overhead. As for the expression on his face, Keori had never seen it more murderous, not even once in a vision.

~*~*~

"Lord Fanel?" a younger guard prompted when Van did not immediately react to the knowledge of the enemies' intrusion.

"How many? What are their positions?" the questions slipped from his lips on automatic as his focus was turned inward. '_Obviously they would not be keeping his children in the throne room with a fire raging inside. Taking that into consideration, the fire was arranged as a deterrent_'.

"There was too much smoke to see clearly, but I'd say no less than a dozen and they aren't staying in fixed positions." The scout reported. His stance was firm, and his voice unwavering.

"That's…" '_The best course of action in this situation would be to remove the hostages from the premises all together. Only if they had another way out would it make sense for them to obstruct the main passageway._'

"I agree; twelve is a pretty small number for an operation of this size." The veteran guard at Van's side replied to his unvoiced concern.

"They're still here." Van realized out loud. Suddenly, he felt a feral emotion blossom within his chest. Without conscious design, a ferocious smile twisted his lips. The younger guard took a hasty step back from his liege and sent an imploring glance to the veteran at Van's side.

"We'll follow you to the depths of hell, My Lord." The veteran atoned in answer before he unsheathed his sword. All around, the guards and scouts quickly followed suit. With the guards behind him, and a few scouts ahead, Van didn't hesitate to rush into the inflamed hall.

The room, lacking most trappings and made of stone, was like an oven. The few remaining articles that had survived the Zaibach campaign were already alight and burning violently into indistinguishable ash. The heat was very noticeable and clung to the skin like a mild sunburn. The air too was perceptibly thin; oxygen serving to succor the flames. Breath would be short. When swinging a lethal weapon it would only take a moment's distraction—a sudden constriction of the lungs, a cough—and death would be the inevitable outcome. If those hardships were not enough, the inescapable draft whipped ash and smoke into the eyes making for blurred vision and streaming tears. Still, when the Fanelians clashed with the first cluster of rebels they were unflinching.

Van stepped readily into the fray swinging his sword so powerfully it cleaved through his first opponent's clavicle and most of his chest cavity before stopping. A morass of bloody bodily organs fell in discernible chunks to the floor. The eyes of his enemy held the glassy shine of death before the rest of his body realized it was no longer receiving information from the brain and stopped holding him up. Van didn't spare time watching him collapse but rather wrenched his weapon free and turned to his next opponent. Apparently there was a gap in their defense somewhere if the rebels had free passage within the interior of the new castle from the old. Such passages only first generation natives of the new Fanelia could know of or traitors in high places.

Just then Van's eyes clapped onto a familiar figure among the rebels. In response his mouth turned down into a grim line and his next strike turned markedly vicious. His adversary, a rather young man no older than eighteen, screamed and stared in horror at his right side where blood spurt copiously from where his shoulder and right arm used to be. The young man was in far too much shock to even realize he was missing the lower, right half of his face too. Van's next blow was a thrust from beneath the boy's ribcage up into his heart. The screaming abruptly cut off. All around him his guards were accordingly dispatching the rebels they encountered. With a flick of his wrist, Van sent a spatter of blood from his sword to the ground. When he next looked up his eyes met those of Priest Regis through the haze of smoke and fire. Van's glare embodied their surroundings with the smoldering hatred in their depths. Priest Regis, eyes narrowed contemptibly, sneered and retreated into the adjoining passage flanked by no fewer than four mercenary guards.

"Lord Van!" shouted the younger guard from before pointing in the direction of Regis' escape.

"Your flank, boy!" Van bellowed far too late for the boy to avoid the killing blow descending on him. Van cringed. The boy's eyes grew wide, but they stayed locked with Van's. His last glimpse of life would be of his liege who could not save him. Van sought to convey his regret but was diverted by a sword bearing down on him. He parried in time and had to exert iron control over himself to keep his eyes centered on his opponent. The boy was dead. There was nothing Van could do for him now. The rebel lunged forward.

Angry at his clumsy opponent and sickened by his own inability to help the young guardsman, Van pivoted around the attack and swung his sword in one swift motion. The duel was over. Breathing hard, he watched as the corpse tumbled to the ground in two distinctly separate pieces. The eyes that stared out of the severed head looked ridiculously elated having not seen the death-blow coming. On the other hand his body looked like any other, albeit headless, bleeding abundantly onto the stone floor. And now that Van's attention was brought to the floor, he could see that he was standing in a large black puddle of blood. His breeches, too, seemed to be drenched from mid-calf down from brushing against bleeding bodies. The cloying smell of copper assaulted his nostrils. Van took stock of his shirt and could now reason that sweat alone was not what was causing it to stick to his frame. Van resisted the urge to shudder.

"Your Highness?" said a wavering voice suddenly at Van's side. Van gasped and whirled around only to come face to face with the young boy guard. '_Oh god, I've lost my mind._' "Your Highness, the rebels are dead. The remaining reinforcements have retreated down that passageway." He pointed in the direction and images superimposed themselves in Van's mind making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Is something the matter, Lord Van?" the veteran guard of before, now greatly unkempt, gently settled a soot and blood smeared hand on Van's shoulder. Van startled anyway and looked wildly at the guard.

"He's…" Van gestured vaguely at the young boy—no, the young man.

"That was a near thing indeed. One of the others was close enough." Turning to give the younger guard a solid warning look, he added, "That kind of luck only comes once in a lifetime, I assure you."

Van felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders and turned to what was left of his enduring assemblage.

"Anyone who has minor injuries, I want you first to gather and treat those with more serious wounds. If they need more medical expertise than you can provide, evacuate them to the other wing. After that, collect our dead in a corner so they can be properly buried after this is over. Put out the last of the fires as well." Van's gaze passed over the many bodies littering the floor to the sparse columns of flames still flickering. With nothing left to fuel them, they were dying, leaving swaths of black scorch on the stone. Whatever had been left of Fanelia's history was now gone up in smoke.

"Those who can still fight, come with me." A roar of sound greeted these words and those who would fight lifted their swords in salute.

Even in the passageway the smoke had not dissipated but hung stubbornly in the air. No one paid it much heed as they tramped with purpose down its expanse. The only concessions to its presence were the abundance of coughing and the motion of hands to faces where tears were wiped from irritated eyes. Van spared no attention to his own discomfort, attuned to his surroundings and the battle ahead. His vigilance paid off when they encountered the straggling members of the retreating insurgents. One rebel turned, leveled a crossbow at them, and fired. Van managed to deflect it with the flat of his blade. The sound of the arrowhead striking off his blade served as a signal to the others that the enemy was on their heels. Shouts went up in warning among the rebels ahead and a small faction broke off to face off with Van and his party.

Van didn't even slow down. His first victim fell to a stab wound in his stomach and garnered Van a shallow cut on the left shoulder. The second went down when Van smashed the heavy hilt of his sword against the rebel's temple. To either side of Van his men were handling those who would attack him from the sides leaving Van a clear path down the center. An inexplicable feeling was driving Van to keep moving forward, not to slow down. Blood splashed against his front as Van gave another rebel a brand new smile below his chin. Van could feel they were getting closer to their destination. Two adversaries came at him simultaneously. Van brought his sword to bear against them and braced the blade with his left hand while holding it by the hilt with his right. One mercenary took the pressure off to attempt a lunge, but that was all the opportunity Van needed to kick out at his second foe. The man fell backward and was then impaled on his own ally's blade. Now encumbered by the dead body, the first mercenary was unable to block Van's sword as it arced through the air and cleaved his head from his neck. '_Hurry. Hurry._' The mantra sent him loping over the dead bodies in his path toward the next encounter.

The farther down the hall they went the more mercenaries they began to meet, until they reached a mass of rebels unmistakably guarding the door to the old guymelef repair chamber. Among the crowd was the unmistakable form of Priest Regis. There remained nothing left of the calm, cultured and collected man Van remembered. Now sweat poured from his brow and there was a noticeable tremor in Regis' hands. With his eyes locked on the betrayer, Van slew the enemy before him, ignoring the cut resulting from a near miss that curved around his right eye from his temple to his chin. One of his guards stepped up and severed the fallen man's head to be sure he was dead for the unpardonable attempt on Van's life.

"Kill him!" Priest Regis shrieked, nearly hysterical. "It's your job to protect me! Kill him!" he pointed imperiously toward Van.

The guards rushed forward as they were bid and were dispatched just as quickly as the ones from the passage. Regis had his back to them; he was worrying the handle of the door, trying to get into the next room.

"Step away from the door." Van ordered icily. Regis turned slowly, his expression a rictus of spiteful hatred in the face of his impending death.

"You were never what she wanted!" he screamed at Van. "She could have been infamous if it weren't for being stuck in this, this insignificant speck of a hamlet! She could have been queen of the world! They were supposed to take us away from here!" Regis' lips were pulled back in a snarl and his eyes were ablaze with a fanatical zeal suggesting he was on the precipice of a mental break. The guards managed to edge him out of the way so they could work at opening the door. As a group they rammed their shoulders against the block of wood which stood immovable before them.

"So you're the one responsible for this?" Van demanded, internally hoping Regis would redeem Isadora by affirming his culpability.

"Our plan would have worked too if it weren't for that, that seed of Satan!" Regis raised his bowed head and Van felt unease coupled with his despair when he spotted the broad grin on the man's face.

"Do you mean Kan?" Van could not see where Regis was drawing the corollary between Keori and the devil.

"But I, **I** know his secret," continued Regis taking no notice of Van, "I heard him in the hall telling that, that traitor of his own kind! Yes, and now Her Majesty knows too. I promise you, he won't be long in this world." Regis cackled his mouth opened wide but his eyes streaming tears. Van did not understand what all he meant but he did hear that his wife was conspiring with Regis to kill Kan; and they were likely responsible for the foreign enemy currently at their gates, the ones still threatening his children. For all the acts of treason Van could muster not even a semblance of pity for the man. Fueled by unbridled anger, he chose a place known for pain and a lingering death in which to strike.

In the same instant that he impaled Regis on his blade, he heard a cry from within the chamber, and his men managed to break the door in.

"Naomi! Is that you, Naomi?"

Van unburied his sword from Priest Regis' chest and sent the man toppling, still dying, to the floor. The scene he walked in on was like something out of a nightmare, certain aspects of it recalling to his mind events from the Zaibach Campaign. Before he could fully absorb the scene, a commotion at the other entrance drew his attention. A welcome sight greeted his eyes in the form of Allen and Chid leading their own contingent of fighters into the room. At center-stage was a group of mercenaries with crossbows encircling Van's three children facing outwards. Within the circle was a man holding a sword above Naomi's neck. Van's grip on his sword tightened convulsively, but he did not rush forward. '_Where are Isadora and Kan?_'

~*~*~

Allen dropped from Scheherazade on the South-west side of the old castle and was immediately surrounded by guards at sword point.

"Schezar?" When his identity was confirmed the weapons were lowered. "This is Alec, he'll be taking Scheherazade into the holdings." the senior guard motioned to the young man at his side. Allen stepped forward and shook his hand while tossing a raised brow look at the senior man.

"I didn't doubt that my mech would be taken care of. You should have spared yourselves the expense of time." Allen frowned at the man.

"Wouldn't have mattered; we're the guard keeping away rebel reinforcements. We got another contingent of guards for you to take into the castle. Duke Freid said there wasn't any use in waiting and that you could join up with him on the inside." The irritated twist to his mouth that accompanied his words let Allen know what the man thought of Chid rushing in without Allen as backup.

"Not to worry, Sir. I'm sure he'll hold his own until we can consolidate our forces. If you'll just show me where the breach is…" Allen prompted. He was directed without delay towards the breached entrance where he met and conferred with the men who would be under his leadership inside. After obtaining all the relevant information, he sent a few men ahead to scout the area and brought his men into the passage.

No sooner had they walked a few yards then they all inhaled the acrid stench of smoke.

"If you have something, cover your nose and mouth with it. If not, try to walk closer to the ground without compromising your mobility." Allen called back to the guards. He suited words to action by tying a square of clothe over his face; it cut the smoke out only marginally, but that was an improvement over direct breathing.

"Where's the fire?" someone asked almost rhetorically.

"I wouldn't worry about it until I can see it." Another rejoined.

"Eyes to the front; and no more talking, unless it's important." A senior guard asserted for which Allen was grateful. The contingent was made mostly of Fanelian forces, and while they respected Allen as a legend, they would likely chaff under any rebuke he might give out. As long as they kept themselves in line, Allen could work peaceably within their ranks.

They'd traversed quite far into the labyrinth before they heard any indication that they were in the midst of a battle. There had been ample visual proof beginning almost immediately upon their entrance into the building. Chid's men obviously had an easy go of it with the handfuls of mercenaries they'd encountered on their way, but Allen suspected they would be coming up on larger numbers the deeper they went. When the sounds of war grew consistent, Allen called a halt to wait for the next scouting report.

While they waited, some of the men who'd fought on the field took the time to properly wipe their blades and even a few brought out whet stones to add whatever small edge they could in the sparse time they had. Allen looked down at his own weapon and frowned when he spotted a knick he could not recall getting. Rarely did he have to service his personal sword, Scheherazade's weapon was another matter, but there'd been a great deal of fighting so he decided it was inevitable.

"Sir," Allen's attention zeroed in on the scout, "Duke Freid's men are ahead trying to breach the enemy's position. They've formed a wall in a narrow passage leading deeper into the castle and they're using crossbows to prevent close combat."

"Loses?" Allen prompted; he could imagine Chid walking in unprepared to face long-range weapons.

"Four dead. Two with flesh wounds. Everyone has taken cover behind whatever they can find."

"Then why are we hearing the clash of swords so often?" Allen pondered aloud.

"Well, apparently they've been at a standoff for some time and the mercenaries are running low on arrows. Occasionally they'll attempt to salvage ones that haven't been imbedded in stone, which is when Duke Freid's men will engage with the enemy. However, we aren't sure how many arrows they have left because they fire off more whenever Duke Freid attempts a full on assault." The scout looked off in the direction from whence he'd come in contemplation.

"Alright, let's see how they handle an additional twenty men." Allen announced to the appreciation of the men surrounding him. As one they rose from their crouching positions and headed off down the hall.

~*~*~

The arrival of Allen and the additional twenty guards created a swell of renewed morale within his own ranks. Chid allowed his appreciation to show by giving Allen a solemn nod, which was returned likewise. Allen's men quickly took their places beside his own and it was as if they'd always been one body. On the other side of the room, Chid could hear the rebels arguing; no doubt they'd noticed the arrival of his allies. Chid caught motion from Allen's direction and watched as one of Fanelia's guardsmen crawled out from behind his cover and began to make his way toward the mercenaries. For a moment Chid could believe they had finally exhausted their supply of arrows when none were sent flying.

The guard actually managed to get within striking distance, evinced by the bellowing cry of a rebel whose legs the guard amputated, before the twang of a released arrow rent the air. Chid did not have to look to know the guard was dead. However, to his surprise every Fanelian guard stood as one and surged forward of a sudden. Belatedly Chid gave the order for his men to do the same realizing Allen was exploiting the guard's sacrifice as a distraction in order to breach the enemy's position.

One, two, four arrows flew before they clashed and the rebels were too close to Fanelian and Freid forces to chance hitting their own with the long range weapons. Chid was right alongside his men wielding a sword with memories of a time he was far too young to do so cluttering his mind. They were a mass of thrust and parry, swing and sidestep. But if Chid had known how few the enemy really numbered he would have made the same call as Allen much earlier. Their advantages lie only in their use of the crossbows because truly their position only afforded Fanelia an easier victory. The battle lasted less than a candle mark and their casualties listed below two handfuls, half of which were from Chid's first encounter with enemy crossbows. Staring at the baker's dozen of felled mercenaries, Chid came to a startling conclusion.

"I have a feeling we're the victims of a stalling tactic." He announced.

"Come again?" Allen queried.

"These men, I think they realized that we closed off this escape route and sent a warning to whoever's behind this. They must have sent all their forces to the main passage where they'll have a better chance of leaving the castle. Think about it; once they get through the throne room they'll have plenty of potential exits, whereas this way there's only the one which we're guarding." Chid locked his gaze with Allen's. He was searching silently for the older man's thoughts on his analysis, but fortunately Allen wasn't one to hide his opinion.

"If that's accurate, then we haven't got the time to waste standing around here. Following your scenario we shouldn't encounter any more resistance until we get to the heart of this mercenary army."

And they didn't come across anyone, but for a few watchmen subdued in silence, before they reached the antechamber and stumbled upon a precarious situation even they hesitated to influence one way or another. There were the royal children held hostage in imminent danger of losing their lives. Then on top of the guymelef scaffolding, below and to the side of the battered form of Keori Kan, stood Her Imperial Highness Queen Isadora, not looking the least bit frightened or as if she were being held captive herself. Across from them stood His Imperial Highness King Van Fanel looking shocked and confused having just caught sight of Keori strung out by his wrists and his wife unharmed below Kan.

"Isado…" began Van in a halting voice. He shook his head to the side in a vain attempt to deny the truth that his mind and all the evidence were explicitly conveying.

"Stay where you are or I cannot compel them to refrain from ending your children's lives." Isadora commanded making a negligent motion toward Hardon and the mercenaries surrounding the children. As movement caught her eye in the direction of the larger combined force of Fanelia and Freid she added coldly, "It goes without saying that the rest of you will comply unasked." Guards hastily backed away in fear of catalyzing an adverse reaction which left Allen and Chid to the fore of the group. Yet, there was no action on the part of the blonde duo who wore identical expressions of grim comprehension. Hesitation and reigned-in anticipation rendered everyone still; silence sounded deafening within the tableau.

"Please." Van beseeched softly, "Don't harm our children."

From his height, Keori watched as all the actors were brought to the stage. From the pleased expression on the Queen's face, he could only deduce this had been her desire from the very start. Perhaps the original plan entailed their removal from the grounds, but that may have been only to appease the mercenary faction leaders who would aid her in the coup. In truth Isadora wanted to hold Van's love for his children over his head and then watch him fold under her demands to save them. The only aspect Keori was still unsure of was whether Isadora's would then kill them all to spite the king or would she actually make some kind of bargain with him.


End file.
